To Open Doors
by DggO
Summary: He has been kept behind closed doors all his life, with no knowledge of who he is or what he can do – until one day he is freed by valiant reporter Lois Lane. Can she help him master his new life? Will there be love? AU Clois, adventure, romance later on.
1. Prologue: A small world, 1: Hidden

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything you recognize, and I'm not making any money with my writing.

Summary: He has been kept behind closed doors all his life, with no knowledge of who he is or what he can do – until one day he is freed by valiant reporter Lois Lane. Can she help him master his new life? Will there be love? Clois, some Marthan and Chimmie. AU.

A/N: I've been reading fanfiction for years and years, but this is in fact the first one I've ever written. I've recently been hit by a streak of inspiration and this is the result (or at least the beginning). Just to warn you, I haven't seen Smallville seasons 1-3 or 10, and I haven't read the comics – all my information is either from what I've learned on the show or from the Smallville Wiki. And even with that I'm taking a whole lot of artistic license on my story. The rating is mostly for language. Enough said – enjoy :D

_Word of warning: Beware the doors. They tend to open where you least expect them to._

* * *

_Prologue: A small world_

"Martha?"

She looked up from where she was preparing the candles. Hearing him call her by her name, instead of as "mom" as she'd once hoped still stung a little. But if he hadn't called her mom when he was a kid he surely wouldn't start doing so now.

"I'm coming." She picked up the small chocolate cake with the lighted candles on top, walked over to where he was waiting by the fireplace and carefully put it on the mantelpiece. He looked at it, smiling, that rare solemn expression on his face which he only ever used on days such as this. "Well done, as always," he said quietly in Martha's general direction. Then he cleared his throat. "Happy birthday, Lionel," he intoned, "wherever you are now."

Martha nodded to that, lost in thought, suddenly overcome by the picture of Lionel standing by this very fireplace, glass of sparkling champagne in hand, lion's mane unruly as always as he spoke about something that needed celebration. He'd always loved to celebrate, just the three of them together, having a little fun while outside the world run its course. They never did that anymore since he was gone, and she really missed it.

"He used to love cake, didn't he?" the young man quietly asked, cutting into her thoughts. "Only the expensive kinds of course."

"Yes. From when he was young." Martha tried to shake the feeling of forlornness which had been creeping up. "I really miss him."

"Me too." His voice was rough. "It always seemed to be a relief for him when he came out here."

"Oh, it was," Martha assured him. "Like a refuge. He used to rave about the quiet out here."

A small smile plastered itself onto the dark-haired man's face. "That must have been before the wailing guy took over block C."

She grinned, "It was." She frowned. "I'm not hearing the wailer right now. Did you sedate him?" She wouldn't put it past him to do that in order to get some calm for this special moment.

"Wasn't necessary. I think he got into a fight with Icy Jack this morning and came off worse." He sighed suddenly. "Which reminds me – I have to check the automatic bolts in the community cells again. Something isn't right there."

"Later," Martha told him, putting a hand on his forearm. "Let's give Lionel a minute."

It had been their ritual in the last three years to put candles on his birthday cake, one for each year he'd been gone, and keep quiet watch until they'd burned down. As they stood there waiting, contemplating the pass of time, the silence was almost perfect, only broken here and there by the distant cry of some bird or other circling over the surroundings.

Martha frowned as that idea stuck with her. Circling … circles. _We're going in circles, aren't we, since you're gone. What was your plan?_

Once again she realized that she didn't see any other way than to keep going.

oOo

The fruit trees bore early this year, and the fall sun made the leaves, still green for the most part, shine brightly. He'd always enjoyed hanging around in the fruit garden to the west of the farm house, tending to the trees, watching them grow. Or climbing into them with the help of an old wooden ladder as he was doing now. The trees had been standing here for no more than twenty years, but they were already strong and gnarled, their branches heavy with produce. He threw the apples and plums into plastic buckets, wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve from time to time, and allowed himself a small break every now and then to thoughtfully watch the surrounding area. The farmhouse, the small barn, the cattle and chicken sheds, the fruit garden, the fields, the supply building and, of course, the facility itself were his whole world. Not too big a world, true, but he knew he was lucky to even have it, given his unique condition.

When he was satisfied with what he had picked so far he carried the buckets over to the large supply kitchens. The security lock between the outside and the facility proper automatically recognized him and let him through. The white tiles and stark artificial lighting inside the facility buildings always made him feel just slightly uncomfortable, but after all of seven years he was used to that feeling, enough so to be able to ignore it.

"Hey, Billy," he greeted the kitchen manager, who worked all alone on preparing the food for the prisoners. Billy was a stocky and unpleasant person, who always looked at him as if he was a leech. He'd also never heard Billy utter a single word in all the time he'd known him. Billy never ever left his kitchen; he slept in a cubbyhole next to the pantry and probably considered the cockroaches living under the shelves his best friends.

Billy gesticulated brusquely towards the food portions that stood ready on plastic trays. "Alright," the unenthusiastic servant sighed picking up the first one, and stepped over to the next security lock. Gruff, muffled voices were waiting for him.

oOo

"_Clarkieeeee_!"

"Come over here, my pretty!"

"What have ya got? Yummy food?"

"Here now, Clarrrrrrkie …"

He always told himself that it was best to simply ignore the hooting, but the truth was that it never got any easier. The never-ending calls, outstretched hands reaching for his clothes or hair, the pale faces floating in the half-light of the cells like ghosts, it was too much for a single person. Sooner or later he always found himself one step short of running to the exit, the food tray in his hands started to tremble, and the gazes of some of the more crazy inmates seemed to burn right through his skull. "Shut up," he told them, trying a firm voice, but unsure if he succeeded. Some of the hands grabbed the food plates right off the tray, spilling contents here and there and over his pants, and as happened so often he felt the need to yell in anger. Of course he managed to get a grip on himself, but today, like most days, his mood had already sunken way beyond point zero before he'd even made it to the end of block A.

"Hey my pretty," a female voice cooed at him as he passed the last cell on the left, "did you consider my little offer, pretty?"

He stopped for just a second, looking over his shoulder, sighing, "Offer, Cassandra?" He was pretty sure her power was something psychic, persuasion maybe, but after working with metahumans and meteor-infected people for all these years he normally knew how to keep out of their nets.

She pressed her face close to the bars, her huge eyes fixating him with a weird seductive expression, and he didn't even try to figure out where she'd gotten her makeup from. "My offer," she repeated. "You let me see the sun for just a few hours, and in return you'll get a night that you'll never forget in your life."

He wasn't impressed. He was sure she deserved not seeing the sun, and he wasn't interested in spending his nights with anyone from the facility. "Thanks," he said dryly. "I'd say you might try your luck with any other guards, but seeing as I'm the only one around here … sorry." He didn't really mean it, and he didn't listen to her disappointed mumbling as he left this block to cross over to the next one.

There, the hooting didn't get any better. He sometimes suspected that it could be a weird sign of affection on the part of the prisoners, but he always dismissed that idea as ridiculous. He knew that in reality everything the facility inmates felt towards him was disdain or even hate, and really, he couldn't fault them; he was sure that he would feel the same way had he been in their place.

Although, if he thought it over closely, he was also pretty sure that he still came off rather well when compared to the people – scientists, doctors – who used to visit the facility every now and then to work with the prisoners in the closed-off rooms to the back of the building. He didn't know what exactly they did with the inmates – and more importantly, he didn't really _want_ to know – but it always caused turmoil in the cells. He'd always made a point of never meeting those scientists, keeping clear of the facility buildings and possibly the grounds whenever they showed.

He knew, after all, that he had to avoid contact with outsiders at any cost.

oOo

"You've excelled yourself, Martha. Again."

"Thank you, Clark. That's very nice of you to say." Another ritual, really, and yet it always made her feel warm inside. He forever praised the food she made for him, but then, he really had nothing to compare it to. Was it conceited of her to feel just a little proud anyway?

"Before you get seconds …" Martha reached across the garden table they were sitting at and picked up a thin vial with shiningly blue liquid inside. "Here you go," she said, handing it to the young man who took it with a slightly annoyed expression. "Thanks," he muttered, opening the small container; then he laid his head back and poured the liquid into his mouth. He grimaced as he put the vial away.

Martha expected him to go on eating, but he hesitated, looking thoughtfully out across the garden. It was a beautiful, sunny late afternoon; bird voices and the hum of insects filled the warm air. "What is it, sweetheart?" she asked, putting her hand on his larger one.

He blinked and looked at her, his blue-green eyes shining in the sun light. "Nothing," he replied. "I'm just wondering again if the blue medicine really helps me to get better. That's all."

"Of course it does, sweetheart." She patted his hand and tried to smile. "What makes you think it doesn't?"

He shrugged, tilting his head to look up into the softly swaying branches of the tree that stood to the side of the table. "I don't know. I've been taking it for as long as I can remember, but I always feel the same. There is never any change."

"But that's how it is helping you, Clark." Martha leant back in her chair to smile at him. "You surely wouldn't feel as good if you didn't take the medicine."

He frowned; he didn't seem too convinced. But this wasn't the first time he had doubts, and Martha had always managed to dispel them. "You'll be alright. Come on, there is plenty of food left."

Obeying, Clark helped himself to a second portion of chicken salad. After a couple of minutes had passed, Martha waited for him to start small talking, as he usually did. And sure enough, he asked as if on cue, "How is Jonathan?"

"Oh, he's great," Martha answered. "It seems it has paid off for us to get involved with the Metropolis cooperative."

"Good," Clark said, munching on his salad. "You know …" he continued in a less cheerful tone, which made Martha prick up her ears, "if I could … I would really like to get to know him." He swallowed and set up straight. "I mean, I know of course that I can't, but … if I could. You've told me so much about him. And about your farm. I'd like to see it one day."

Martha sighed; she hated it when these melancholic moods came over him. "Our farm is really not too different from this one," she said, hoping he would leave the subject be; it had been such a nice afternoon up to now.

"Yeah I know. But it _is_ outside the fence."

"Oh sweetie, the fence isn't there because of you," Martha said cautiously.

He smiled briefly, "I know. Don't worry." And he went on eating, hunched over his plate. But Martha's own appetite was gone.

In moments like this, she hated herself for lying to him, and it didn't help that it was to protect him. The boy she'd named Clark twenty years ago didn't deserve this. The lies. The entire façade. And she herself, she didn't deserve to be a loved by him, by the boy who'd fallen from the sky.

That boy was a man now; and it certainly didn't make things any easier.

* * *

_1: Hidden_

"_Shit_!"

Her pant leg was stuck in the wire fence, and her bag had slid out of her hand. She jumped the last meter down the fence, breathing heavily as she landed on the wet grass, her pant leg tearing free. "Just my luck again," she panted as she glanced at the hole left in the fabric. "Hmm. I need some new pants anyway."

With that she moved forward, gliding alongside the fence while glancing at the facility buildings from time to time. There really wasn't much light there, in any case not as much as she would have expected given her previous experiences with these kinds of places. The buildings were pitch black, square shapes against a cloudy, dark-gray background.

"Approaching the back entrance now," she whispered into the voice recorder she had in the front pocket of her jacket. "No movement anywhere."

She couldn't be sure, though. Better to check in with her friendly vigilante again. "Hey! You there?" she hissed into her headset. "Did you discover anything yet?"

A crackle, then, "Everything's calm. Proceed as planned."

_Yes, sir_, she thought smiling and crept over a gravel path towards the looming dark building. A nondescript steel door was set into the blank wall. "Opening back door now," she recorded, and then reached into her pocket to pull out a hand-held electronic device which, according to her ally, was the newest door opener available on the black market. She switched it on and held it to the door handle as he'd shown her, but to her disappointment, nothing happened. "Hey, you! Green Arrow!" she hissed, "your thing doesn't work!"

"Well, not much I can do about that. Turn the east corner; I think there's another door."

She crept along the building edge, keeping to the shadows, rounding the corner and suddenly diving into the unexpectedly bright light of the pale half moon. "To your right, behind that nailed-up window," his voice told her. He probably was somewhere on the roof.

She reached the door; it looked pretty shabby, and she couldn't believe her luck when it opened up after she'd slightly rattled the handle. "It's open!" she informed the Arrow excitedly, slipping in. She couldn't detect any form of alarm.

"Hey Lane, wait for me!" the Arrow warned her, but she didn't heed him; her journalistic instincts were screaming at her to hurry. It was very dark in the room behind the door, and the air was stale. Maybe a storage room of some kind. As she switched on her flashlight her assumption proved right.

There was another door in the room, and it was opened a crack. She slipped through, her heart beating furiously all of a sudden. She could do this. She'd already gotten this far.

The corridor behind the door was bare and dusty. At its other end, a greenish light was glowing unnaturally, and if she strained her ears she was pretty sure she could hear the noises of people. Perfect. "Approaching what I'm assuming is one of the cell blocks," she told her recorder.

The greenish light sipped from behind a steel door, and as she pushed it open a square room filled with blinking computer monitors was revealed. Excitedly she stepped forward, the heavy door falling shut behind her, and she noticed too late that there was no handle on this side._ I'm going to worry about that later_, she thought, shrugging, and regarded a ground plan of the building displayed on one wall.

Five minutes later she was crossing another corridor at the back of the facility main building, trying to stay out of range of the security cameras while simultaneously talking with Green Arrow. "Well I'm sorry I'm too fast for you," she told him. "Did you get rid of the security cameras yet? Yes, I _can't_ get to the cells before you've done that, I already told you." She clenched her teeth; _men_! Why did they never listen?

"Okay, Lane," the Arrow said after a moment, "I think the only way for you to get there is from the outside. What I'm saying is, you have to get out of the building and in again by another way. Alright?"

"If it's really necessary," she sighed, starting to move again.

While he guided her all the way to another door which led her out onto the compound again, the Arrow, as usual, couldn't keep himself from teasing her a little. "Did I ever ask you why you're so obsessed with these Luthorcorp facilities?"

"Did _I_ ever ask _you_ why _you_ are so obsessed with them?" she responded lazily.

"No, but I must say we really make for a great team," he said and she could hear his grin. "Alright, turn to your left and you're out again."

Indeed she was; the cold, wet night air greeted her face like a blow. "Now, if you turn to your right and duck so those guards in their nice hideout over there don't see you," he continued, "you might just be lucky enough to meet … me." She winced as he suddenly appeared right in front of her, a dark figure in a hood. "You know, I might have screamed," she told him disdainfully. "You just had to satisfy your ego again, didn't you?"

Together they sneaked around the next corner; a high wall and an even higher fence came into view. "Over there," the Arrow whispered, pointing at an opening. "I'm going to check, you stay here."

And he was gone. She waited, sitting on her heels in the wet grass; contemplating what a rewarding achievement it would be to publish the article and discredit Luthor just a little more.

Because every little bit mattered.

oOo

"Your brandy, Mr. Luthor. Anything else?"

"No, that will be all for tonight." Lex didn't look up as the brandy glass was placed by his elbow, and he only faintly heard the servant retire. The crackle of the fireplace was a calming tune in the background.

"Oh, dad," Lex said to himself. "Father, father." His focus was on a pile of printed papers in his lap which he had been leafing through for this last half hour. The documents had only recently been retrieved from a secret stash of his late father hidden in the old hunting lodge Lionel used to spend time at as a youth. He'd probably thought Lex wouldn't remember him mentioning that place. But Lex had remembered, and now he had files in his hands which doubtlessly contained the hottest information any son in the world had ever inherited from his father – especially considering that his father had never meant for him to inherit them.

"Aliens, dad – really?"

But he knew it was true. The evidence was all there, including statistics, formulas, pages and pages of scientific results. And photos too.

These he studied the longest time. A cold shudder that began between his shoulder blades ran down his back. _How could you, dad … how could you keep this from the world? From _me_?_

The papers documented the find and subsequent examination of two alien space ships, including their two occupants, right after the meteor shower that had devastated Smallville and its surroundings twenty-one years ago, in 1989. A particular focus was on the scientific testing of a female alien specimen who was described as "approximately nineteen in earth years, blonde hair; proved to be very resilient to all kinds of experiments". From what Lex could gather Lionel's scientists hadn't hesitated to put her through all kinds of tests conceivable for five months on end until the creature had finally died under the pressure.

Almost holding his breath, Lex flipped through the pages, completely awed by the enormity of it all. He'd always known that his father had kept a lot from him, but he hadn't expected his year-long search for any information Lionel might have hidden away to yield results such as this.

… specimen is apparently empowered by the sun's radiation …

… certain weaknesses, have to be examined more closely …

… specimen's lack of cooperation proves even more difficult when …

For whatever reason, that much was clear, none of the results had ever been published; and even more surprisingly, none of them had been used within any of Luthorcorp's technical development programs. This puzzled Lex; he'd have expected Lionel to exploit anything that came within his reach in every way possible. Instead, it seemed like after the death of the female alien the entire scientific program had been shut down in the beginning of 1990 – even before the last tests had been finished –, all the information stored away safely and all the people involved paid off with enough money to keep their lips sealed forever.

As Lex studied some of the pages more closely he realized that all the names of the scientists who had worked on the program had been blackened out, and that no place names whatsoever were mentioned; what's more, many test results and observations were simply missing. This seemed to be more of a summary than the real thing.

As if his father had wanted to make absolutely sure that no one would be able to follow up on what he had covered up so skillfully twenty years ago.

So that was it? Had he been given an appetizer only to learn now that he would never see the rest of the meal?

Lex leaned back in his chair, inhaling deeply. The pictures in his hands seemed to be laughing at him, stark black-and-white photos of things unimaginable. What had happened to the ships after the end of the project? Was this really all the information there was? Was he overlooking something?

If there was one thing he knew, it was that he, the son of the man who seemed to have covered up the greatest scientific discovery ever, had a right to know more. To know everything.

He had a _right_ to benefit from these alien matters.

He took the brandy glass, sipped at it, although he felt a sudden headache creep up. He _was_ missing something, wasn't he?

The silence in the library was only broken here and there by a crackle of the fire. Lex stared at the brandy sparkling in the fire light, lost in thought.

Then it hit him like a blow. It had been _two_ aliens, right? One had died. What had happened to the other one?

Hastily he put the brandy aside to leaf through the pages again. No, no experiments that referred to it, only a couple of sentences at the beginning of the records that said it had been a male, and apparently much younger than the female. That was all. No more mentions throughout the entire pile.

Now there were two possibilities, of course. One, that the documents dealing with this alien were simply elsewhere, or even non-existent. Or two, and this idea thrilled Lex so much he could hardly contain his excitement, that the alien was still out there somewhere. What were the odds?

Lex rose to walk over to the fireplace, feeling a smile distort his lips. _If you've hidden him out there somewhere, dad … you know I'm going to find him._

So his father had apparently gone to great lengths in order to protect this little secret of his. But it wouldn't be enough. Not for one Lex Luthor who had the best technical equipment and the sharpest minds in the world at his disposal.

He already felt the excitement of involving himself in this new project. It wasn't just because he wanted to get his own back on Lionel. This was so much more – so much.

His gaze wandered over to his vinyl collection. He felt tempted to put on something adequate to celebrate the moment. Something powerful. Beethoven maybe. Or even Wagner.

_Alright, dad … let the games begin._

oOo

She'd sat waiting for all of three minutes when the first ice-cold drop landed on her face. "Oh come on," she muttered, "someone's got to be kidding me!" She tried to creep a little closer to the building to maybe find some protection from the rain. Where was that Arrow? She folded her arms to keep warm and sighed. _Anything to get that corner office at the Planet …_

A couple of instants later she suddenly heard a male voice somewhere behind her. How had he gotten there? Whatever. She turned and got up, a smile on her lips, ready to give this adventure a new shot. "Hey! What took you so long?"

Silence ensued; she frowned, trying to make out his figure in the darkness. Then a rustle, "Who's there?"

She felt ice-cold all over suddenly. _Great, Lane. It isn't him._

It had to be one of the guards.

What to do? Anxiously she looked around, searching for Green Arrow.

"Don't move," the guard ordered; now she could see him, dark-clad and broad-shouldered, and he had something in his hand. Was it a gun? It was revealed to be a flashlight, then, which the guard switched on and shone directly into her face.

_Darn_! she thought as she narrowed her eyes at the blinding light. Heart still beating wildly, she turned around and started to run. So what if it was crazy, she had enough experience with Luthorcorp's guards to know that it was better not to get caught. "Hey!" the guard yelled and instantly began to run after her. She slipped through the opening in the wire fence, crossed an asphalted square full of puddles and turned left sharply hoping to confuse the guard, but the beam of his flashlight never left her heels. "Arrow! Where the hell are you?" she panted into her headset, but a crackle was her only answer. She was on her own. Now that was what she got for trusting one of them vigilantes!

_Come on, Lane. As if this is the first unfortunate situation you've managed to get yourself into._

She ran until a wall stopped her dead in her tracks. Frantically she looked for a way out, turned right and stumbled down a short concrete staircase. Her pursuer was still hot on her heels, and all of a sudden, without warning, a shot sounded from right behind her and a bullet whizzed along her cheek. She tripped, losing her footing, forced herself to get back up and ran on. Her lungs were on the brink of bursting.

Then something shot past her face, and her pursuer gave a soft groan of surprise. Lois glanced over her shoulder; an arrow was stuck in the man's arm. _Finally_! she thought.

"Lane? Come here! Over to the fence!" The Arrow sounded almost as out of breath as she felt. Although she still didn't see him, she scuttled over. So another fence climb it was.

"Hurry!" the Arrow's voice sounded into her ear, "there's another guard rounding the building, and I can't –" He broke off mid-sentence. She chose to ignore it and began to rapidly climb up the wire while the drain ran down her face. As she passed the top of it she took a split second to analyze her situation; it was no good. Even if she made it to the outer perimeter of the complex there was no way to get over the barbed wire fence there; she'd only made it over it in the first place because she'd used the roof of her car as a stepladder, and her car was parked on the opposite side of the huge facility grounds.

Just as she'd reached ground again, bullets started to zip through the air once more, forcing her to duck and to swear under her breath. "F*** that corner office!" she muttered and stumbled on. Apparently the guard who'd been following her had been stopped for the time being – presumably by her friendly vigilante. However, she'd discovered another guard closing in on her from behind the facility main building, just as the Arrow had warned her.

_Remember what the General always says – most soldiers are too stupid to tie their own shoelaces. Wait, did he really say that? Whatever, these men aren't soldiers anyway._

"I got it!" she gasped as she reached an arrangement of waste disposal containers that seemed like a suitable hiding place. Right as she ducked behind one, however, a cold voice cut her relief short. "Now you don't really wanna do that, do you?" She felt a gun being aimed in her direction, and with a curse on her lips, she turned on her heel and shot around the corner of the building. She heard the guard following, although he was definitely slower than her. A concrete wall blocked her view in front, but there was a door in the middle and it was opened a crack. Without thinking she slipped through, her burning lungs screaming for a break which she couldn't allow herself.

In front of her was a large expanse of lawn, the wet grass sparkling. And at the far end of it …

A farm.

She stared. It was as if she'd stepped through a mirror and landed in Wonderland. Or something like that.

Neat, wooden farm buildings, surrounded by trees, a quiet, dark oasis on the edge of the madness that was this Luthorcorp facility. How could that be?

Well, whatever the reason, the sight screamed for her to hurry because if nothing else it was a potential hiding place.

She crossed the lawn in a matter of seconds and staggered up the three steps to the front door of the farm house. She tried the door, but her short run of good luck seemed to be ending already because it was locked and, by the feel of it, even bolted. She turned around, squinting back to the wall at the far end of the lawn. Where was that guard – had he seen her?

She continued to rattle the door, but it didn't budge, so she started to knock like crazy. "Hello? Someone there? I need help!" Whoever lived here, hadn't they heard the gun shots?

She hesitated a second to listen with her ear on the door. When she'd just decided to tiptoe around the house to look for another way in, or to just hide in the animal sheds – she wasn't sure why she hadn't thought of that first anyway – she suddenly heard a noise from inside. Slow steps.

Then, a low voice, "Who's there?"

"Let me in, _please_!" she panted. "There's someone out there who wants to shoot me!"

Silence.

"And that marksman," she went on, losing her patience along with her dignity, "will be here any second – so … please! Open the door!"

"Ah … I'm … sorry," the man behind the door said very slowly. "But I can't … let you in … ma'am," he added hesitatingly.

"Fine!" she grunted, stepping back and turning round. "I'll just try the barn over there. Thank you very much!"

"Um, ma'am," his voice stopped her, "you can't … get in there. It's all locked … you see, sometimes one of the –"

"Shhh!" She shrank back against the house wall, hoping the darkness would conceal her form in its shadow. The facility guard had just appeared on this side of the wall and was slowly coming across the lawn, looking here and there, waving the flash light in one hand and the gun in the other.

"Mister – whoever you are," she hissed in the direction of the door, hoping he was still there, "look, I understand that you don't want to get into trouble, but if you don't let me in you're gonna have to deal with a dead body on your front porch within the next ten seconds!"

Another two seconds of silence followed; then she heard someone working on the lock, and the door creaked. "Alright, ma'am … I'll open the door but you'll have to wait until I'm –"

"Shhh!" She pushed her shoulder against the door to get through faster, slipped in and pushed it closed all in one movement. From the corner of her eye she noticed someone who'd been standing in the dim light behind the door stumble backwards so hastily he all but fell over his own feet.

His voice was gruff now, "No, you can't be in here while I –"

"Too bad, 'cause I am!" she hissed interrupting him – how slow _was_ he? She scurried to a window next to the door and cautiously looked out from behind the curtain. The guard was there alright, searching the surroundings, and what's more, the other one – who'd been shot in the arm – had just joined him. They didn't look as if they'd give up very soon.

She took a few deep breaths, then turned around to the guy who'd backed away even farther from her – what was up with him? Her once-over of him was delayed for a second or two when she realized he was wearing pajamas – the ugliest gray pajamas she'd ever seen. And who the hell wore pajamas at 9.30 pm on a Friday night anyway? She was tempted to smile for the ridiculousness of it all. Here she was, hiding away in a strange house with a guy in ugly pajamas who stared at her as if she were an axe-swinging warrior princess or something.

That noted, he was her age, his hair was dark and tousled, and his face was handsome to say the least. He was well-built in general. Damn tall, too.

_Now get a grip, Lane. _He was talking.

"You can't _be_ in here," he was saying, looking at her from narrowed eyes which had a striking bluish-green color. "It was wrong of me to let you in."

"Well, I'm grateful you did," she replied, shrugging, "since the two guys out there want my blood. I can feel it."

"No, you don't understand." She noticed his breathing seemed strained. There was also sweat on his forehead. Frowning, she took a closer look – man, he was on the verge of a panic attack, wasn't he?

"What don't I understand?" she asked, a little more softly given his seemingly fragile condition.

"I'm sick," he said urgently. "And … and it's … contagious."

She raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. What kind of sickness?"

"A … a bad one. It's not really … curable." He sounded deeply unhappy. "If you're near me … there … there's a risk you get it too."

_Well thanks for the definition of contagious_, she thought, but if she was honest with herself he looked so miserable she almost, _almost_ wanted to take him by the hand, sit him down somewhere and get him a whole lot of chocolate to make him feel better.

She wrinkled her nose. What was she even thinking? He was a complete stranger and no, that she'd invaded his personal space without warning didn't count.

"You know what, I don't plan on staying very long," she said, "and I'm just going to keep my distance to you, okay? Why don't you go back to bed or wherever you were and I'll stay down here and when those guards out there have had enough of the rain and leave I'm just going to leave too and you'll never see me again. Alright?"

Maybe it was her long speech which had confused him, or maybe his knees were just too weak, but anyway he didn't move. Instead he continued to stare at her with those big, amazingly emotional eyes of his, and she felt obliged to reassure him once again.

"You know, even if I get infected I'm not going to sue you. I promise, okay?"

He didn't look convinced, but at least his breathing had normalized. He stepped to the window at the opposite side of the door and warily looked out. "Why are the perimeter guards after you?" he asked quietly. "What did you do?" He turned to her, a frown distorting his ruffled features. "How did you even get onto the grounds?"

This was the moment when she realized that this farm was in fact _inside_ the fenced and walled facility grounds.

"Man!" she groaned. "You – you _belong_ to the facility, don't you? Oh, great, Lane. That's typical. Out of the frying pan into the fire is what they say –"

"I'm not going to tell them you're here," he told her, sounding much more confident now and perhaps even a little … excited. "I think that's Bob and … and André out there. I … I think they might get the idea to search inside here … it's what they did when Silent Stephen once –" He broke off to look at her. His unexpected change of mood made her nervous.

"Hey … you know a better hiding place?" she asked hopefully. The back part of her mind was wondering all the while why she was even trusting him, but the rest of her overruled it by pounding into her that there was no time to doubt.

He slowly nodded, but as she approached him eagerly he backed away a couple of steps. "Don't get any closer to me," he warned her.

She stopped. "Okay, I won't."

He eyed her with just a hint of suspicion. "It's upstairs," he finally said.

She followed his outstretched hand, once again noting his considerable height as she passed him, and walked to the wooden stairs. As she put her foot on the first step, his deep voice reached her again. "You didn't tell me your name."

She snorted. "Have you never seen my face on the news?" Smiling just a little, she brushed her damp hair off her forehead and took the next step, "Lois Lane. Your first choice in reporting."


	2. 2: Three is company

Thank you so much for the reviews! And over 270 visitors in six days! I feel flattered! (And inspired.)

I edited this chapter but it is still kind of long. Anyway – enjoy :D

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_2: Three is company_

"I'm going to kill him."

Her announcement met with silence. Lois tried to wriggle her shoulders free where she was sitting wedged into a closet. It was _his_ closet, to be exact, and it was packed with all kinds of clothes which only had one thing in common – they were all either gray or black. Lois had her flashlight on to keep the stifling darkness at bay. She didn't hear anything outside the closet – not any facility guards poking around outside or inside the house and not even _him_, although she knew he had to be somewhere in the same room. He probably didn't want to leave her alone with his things.

"Don't you want to know who?" she asked after a while.

Another twenty seconds passed before she heard him speak somewhere on her right hand side, "Okay. Who?"

"Green Arrow."

"Ah." He lapsed into silence again.

Lois leaned the back of her head against the wood of the closet and glanced at her watch. "Really. I've been sitting here for half an hour and not so much as a single word from him!" She snorted. "We were a team of two, you know, trying to break into the facility. But I probably should have known better than to rely on _him_!" It was hard to convince herself now that her situation could have been worse. At least it was pretty warm in here, and her soaked clothes were slowly drying.

What's more, the perimeter guards hadn't entered the house yet. Hopefully they'd given up on finding her by now.

The young man's voice was low, "That's a strange name. Green Arrow."

Lois smirked. "You know of course that it was _me_ who named him that, do you?"

He sounded confused now, "No. I didn't."

What? Did he never read a newspaper? "Alright. I guess I forgive you."

She heard him sneak over to a window to look outside. "They're still there," he said quietly. "It's really bad luck that you tried to break in on their shift." A pause, "Why _did_ you try to break in?"

So _now_ he was beginning to wonder about that? She almost giggled – god, she _was_ getting tired, wasn't she?

"I'm Lois Lane, ace reporter," she said, unsuccessfully trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, "and I've been working on bringing down Luthor for years." She sighed, "You really don't read newspapers that often, do you?"

Again, a moment or two passed before he answered, "No."

Lois, stashed away in a dark closet as she was, had time to interpret that short reply. "You … you _do_ know that's a 33.1 facility out there, right?" she asked, suddenly convinced that he really had no clue as to her motivations.

"Um. Yeah," he cautiously said.

"And you are aware that what they're doing with the people in there isn't … you know – _legal_?"

He hesitated to answer; Lois winced when her earpiece unexpectedly came alive again. "Lane?" Green Arrow's voice asked, "where the hell are you?" He sounded out of breath.

"In the farmhouse," Lois replied curtly. "And where the hell have _you_ been?"

The Arrow panted; he seemed to be running. "I ran into some problems with my equipment," he said. "I should have known that changing the chemicals in my gas darts would –"

"Alright, alright," she interrupted impatiently, "now –"

"And then I lost my headset," the Arrow continued. A crackle, followed by, "Did you say farmhouse?"

"Yes, I said _farmhouse_. You should get here so we can plan together how we get back to my car." Even though she was angry at him she felt obliged to warn him, "Those two guards are still haunting the lawn outside, and they _love_ their guns. You have to be careful. I think there's a backdoor to the house."

"Understood," he replied briskly, and with a final crackle was gone.

Lois estimated he'd need another four or five minutes until he reached them. This gave her an opportunity to reflect on just how disastrous this whole evening had turned out to be.

Really, the plan hadn't seemed so difficult to execute at first – even if they'd decided on it rather spontaneously. This facility was located above ground, the security measures weren't as tight, and there wasn't much personnel hanging around. They'd stumbled upon it almost by chance when researching some of the earlier Luthorcorp projects and, inspired by the sheer luck, had decided to infiltrate it that same week. Really, if compared to some of the other facilities they'd broken into this one should have been a piece of cake.

Maybe they should have delayed the plan when first Cyborg and then Aquaman had pulled out due to other obligations so that Lois suddenly had only one hero – er, vigilante – at her side. But she knew she'd have to land another big article soon or her editor would begin to think she was resting on her laurels. And there was a fierce competition for that corner office. Lois Lane had won her reputation through her courage and her hard work. She wouldn't lose it because of a little risk.

And who could have known that the one time they needed tranquilizer dartsthe Arrow didn't have them because he wanted to test something else? That he would run into problems with his stuff this night of all nights? Really, how much bad luck could one person have?

But, no, that was a feeble excuse. The truth was that she, Lois herself, had certainly acted unprofessionally. She'd run headfirst into this adventure without any guarantees. And it was her fault alone that those guards were after her now.

_Admit it, Lane. You've messed it up._

Right. It wasn't the first time, though she liked to think she was getting better these last few years.

She wondered if she had enough material to at least write a short article on the facility. It would be difficult if she considered all her Rules of Reporting, and it went against her code of honor not to stick to them.

So no article. All her efforts for nothing.

That was when she realized she had a potential source at her disposal.

"Hey – you!" she called softly.

"Yes."

"You – are you an employee of Luthorcorp? I mean I should think you aren't, because you helped me and are in fact hiding me in your own closet but anyway this farm _is_ within the facility perimeter and you said you knew it was 33.1, but I just wondered if you knew anything about it and maybe would be willing to answer a couple of questions, seeing as you don't seem to mind the investigative journalism taking place here, so –"

She broke off; realizing that she'd probably overwhelmed him with her Lois Lane-type line of questioning. She swallowed and noticed the beam of her flashlight was trembling, along with her hands, with her sudden excitement. "What do you say?" she asked.

After the moment of silence she was slowly getting used to he stated, "I'm not."

"Not what?" she asked, frowning.

"I'm not an employee of … Luthorcorp." He seemed to shuffle around a little. "I'm a farmer."

"Right." Lois smiled. "One who happens to be the direct neighbor of this Luthorcorp facility. Good enough for me." A sudden thought crossed her mind, "So if you aren't an employee of Luthorcorp, then why are you living here all alone?"

"I'm not. There's a woman. She comes every day."

Lois wasn't too sure she was really interested in his daily life, but before she could think of a way to make him reveal more about the facility a sharp creak sounded through the house from somewhere downstairs.

"It's the back door; it always creaks," the "farmer" said and apparently scuttled out of the room.

"Hey; wait!" Lois hissed, crept out of the closet so fast she almost tripped and followed him down the stairs, remembering in the last second to slow down so she wouldn't be heard outside. Since there wasn't any light on in the house she could only barely make out the outlines of furniture. When he'd led her upstairs three quarters of an hour earlier she'd already noticed that the interior of the farm house was furnished simply and functionally. Now she had the opportunity to verify an impression that had surprised her earlier – while there certainly was electricity, there were hardly any modern amenities. No TV, no computer – the most sophisticated piece of electric equipment seemed to be the coffee machine.

Weird.

"What are you doing here?" his tentative voice reached her. "You were supposed to … to stay upstairs. Bob and André are still out there."

He was hovering next to the back door. He now wore a black jacket over his pajamas, but his feet were still bare.

With a frantic movement of his large hands he warned her not to come any closer. He really made a point of keeping at least a couple of meters between them at all times.

Lois tried to find out where Green Arrow was. It seemed like he'd tried to open the door from outside, thereby making it creak, but evidently without much success since it had an impressive electronic lock, just like the front door. Lois corrected herself in her assessment of the amenities; surely these locks were the most sophisticated pieces in the house.

"Let him in!" Lois whispered. "It's okay. He's my ally."

His shadowy face looked uncertain. "But –"

Lois rolled her eyes. "It's really okay. He's a hero. You know, those guys who patrol the streets at night, fighting crime! Some call them vigilantes, too." It was starting to get on her nerves to always speak this quietly.

"What's the difference?"

Well, that wasn't a question she'd been expecting.

"Um … _I_ think they're heroes because they help people without asking anything in return. But some don't like it that they hunt criminals on their own. It's probably because they're actually better on their job than the police. My guess."

His eyes gleamed softly in the pale light coming from outside. "I didn't know."

"Didn't know what?"

"That there are these … vigilantes. Fighting crime."

Lois snorted disbelievingly. "What is it with you not being up to date?" she blurted, probably a little louder than was wise. "Where have you lived these past years? The vigilantes have been around a long time."

She didn't need light to see she'd snubbed him. Okay, so that had been pretty impolite of her. _Just keep the mad dog in check a little longer, Lane. He's a source._

"Alright," she said, trying a more cheerful tone, "will you let him in now?"

One minute later, a hooded, wet, green-clad figure was crouching on the lowest step of the stairs while Lois's dark-haired farmer cautiously closed the door again.

"Are you okay?" she asked Green Arrow.

His face under the hood turned to her. "Why is it I think I should be asking _you_ that?"

She closed in on him, intent on making him understand just how disappointed she was, "It's _you_ who disappeared on me! And by the way, how come your equipment acts up now when –"

"It was _your_ stubbornness which got us into this mess," Green Arrow interrupted, unimpressed. He motioned in the direction of the dark-haired young man. "Who's the big guy?"

"Oh. He lives here. He hid me. In his closet." She leaned closer to the Arrow, lowering her voice. "To be honest, he's something of a weirdo." She hesitated, "but a nice weirdo. He helped me after all."

Green Arrow seemed to grin, "I wonder how you made him do that."

Before Lois could slap him, he rose to walk over to said weirdo, but that one backed away from him quickly – even though he'd been watching them up to now, apparently fascinated with the Arrow's outfit. "Don't come closer," he warned. "I'll infect you."

"Huh?" Green Arrow looked to Lois for an explanation. She shrugged, "He seems to have some sort of sickness."

"I think he's perfectly healthy. He's a weirdo, I told you," she mouthed after that. The Arrow nodded, glancing at the other man.

"Alright," he said, then, "so let's see how we get you to your car, Lane."

She smiled sweetly. "And you, you're going to _walk_ back to Metropolis, or what?"

oOo

The making of plans went well for all of five minutes, in which Lois and Green Arrow contemplated various possibilities to get out of the house and back to the opposite side of the grounds without alerting the stalking guards – who'd surely called more of their colleagues by now to go and look for possible intruders – to their presence. The situation was actually far from hopeless; the only condition for success was that neither of them slipped up again.

Their host was watching them silently with both suspicion and obvious curiosity. Lois chose to simply ignore him but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Did he _know_ that the way he was eying her from out of the shadows made her shudder time and again?

"Alright," the Arrow said looking up from the short projectiles he'd been checking, "I'd say we go now before you get too tired to –"

That was when Lois _did_ slip up.

It really couldn't be foreseen. She was sitting unsuspectingly when suddenly something soft and living brushed her back out of nowhere. In a panicky movement she leapt to her feet and screamed.

Green Arrow stared at her in horror. The farmer scuttled closer and looked for something at the top of the stairs; Lois followed his gaze and spotted a dark cat hiding away there.

_A cat_! Lois thought, almost rolling her eyes. _Oh please! That's ridiculous Lane. You can do way better than this. _

But the mishap couldn't be rewound. Five seconds later, a voice rang out outside the back door, its owner apparently running low on patience, "Who's there?"

The three people in the house looked at each other in the dim light, none of them speaking.

"Hey!" the guard yelled and pounded on the door. Lois suspected he was so soaked by now that he didn't care much for subtlety anymore. "Open this door!"

Lois realized that her farmer was looking askance at her. She quickly shook her head.

"I've never been to this part of the facility before," they heard the other guard, who'd apparently joined the first, say hoarsely. "Who lives here?"

"This is the supply farm," the first one told him. "There's a woman, but she only comes during the day. The old Luthor's teen sweetheart or something like that, ya know?" He laughed grumpily. "As far as I know, there shouldn't be anyone here right now."

Lois frowned. _And what about him?_ she thought, watching her dark-haired farmer in confusion.

The rest of the guards' conversation went unheard, but they apparently settled on searching the house after all. A series of sudden blows against the door made Lois automatically back away.

Before anyone could decide what to do about the guards, who apparently hadn't expected the door to be locked electronically, their host stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Stop that," he said, with more self-confidence than Lois would have ever guessed he possessed.

The blows stopped, "Who's there?"

"I live here," he answered coolly. "You're damaging the door."

A brief pause, then, "Would you please open up – sir? We'd like to see who you are."

The ever more mysterious young man turned to Lois and Green Arrow and nodded for them to sneak over into the kitchen area so as not to be seen. As they did so, Lois couldn't help but notice the weirdly determined expression on his face.

A moment later, he'd opened the door by keying in a code. Two very soaked and very cross-looking men appeared in the doorframe, guns loosely by their sides. "And you are?" one asked warily.

"I live here," the young man repeated. "There's no one here except for me."

The guard looked at his colleague, who had a messy bandage around his arm. "I've never seen him before."

That one, however, blinked and frowned. "I think I have," he said. "Once. Long time ago. I think that's the ghost."

The other guard grinned, "Ghost?"

Lois was confused as well. What?

"Our team, we hardly ever see him," the bandaged guard told the other one. "He works with the freaks … never comes out to the perimeter. Might be you see him from the corner of your eye from time to time. Someone labeled him the ghost and the name stuck I guess." He gazed cautiously at the young man. "Didn't know the ghost was haunting this farmhouse too." He seemed to find that pretty funny, but the man so entitled clearly wasn't amused.

Neither was Lois. What were they talking about? From what she could see with her own eyes their host had been living here for at least a couple of years. And he looked solid enough to her.

Well, you probably couldn't work at a 33.1 facility without losing it at some point.

"I'm no ghost," the young man clarified, "and there's nothing here for you."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," the unbandaged guard said. "I think you're hiding something. What do you think, André?"

"I agree." And André stepped forward, clearly intent on invading the house.

Lois was torn between sobbing and laughing hysterically. Why did these things always have to end messy?

And she was really starting to get tired. It had been a darn long day.

She waited for Green Arrow to act but before he could, her dark-haired farmer did something valiant but also very stupid – with a determined expression on his face he abruptly engaged the obviously surprised guards in a harsh exchange of punches.

Lois could only watch, her mouth agape. What was he doing? Was he _defending_ them? But – _why_?

It surely wasn't right of them to expect him to fight for them?

For all of fifteen seconds it actually seemed as if the farmer had a chance against the guards but then one of them brought his gun up, his fingers closing in on the trigger.

"Oh for god's sake." Next to Lois Green Arrow finally moved. Before the trigger-happy guard knew it he was being slammed against the wall, sliding to the floor unconscious. The Arrow turned to the farmer in time to see him land a fist directly in his opponent's jaw; the guard sank to his knees, moaning.

Lois, who'd been watching, felt weirdly tempted to grin. "Well!" she said, "that was easy, wasn't it?"

Both men looked at her incredulously for a second before Green Arrow turned to nod his approval at the young man, "You've got a mean right hook there, buddy."

That one looked slightly baffled about his own achievement. Then he visibly relaxed, and the new expression on his face could be _almost_ called smug. "I've had to subdue the Red Twins a couple of times," he said conversationally before he suddenly lapsed back into silence, his mouth firmly shut.

"_Right_," Lois announced, grabbing her bag, "let's go now."

Green Arrow hesitated while the farmer was fingering a scratch on the left side of his neck which was slowly beginning to bleed.

"Lane," she heard the Arrow's deep voice, "wait."

"What is it now?" Her patience was starting to run thin now that they had a potential chance to escape. "If you didn't notice – those men have radios. I bet if they don't check in with their colleagues at regular intervals the grounds will be swarming with guards very soon!"

"Yeah, but …" The Arrow leaned closer toward her, "What about him?" He nodded in the direction of their unexpected helper.

Lois blinked. Damn it. She'd forgotten all about her source. _What's_ _up with you tonight Lane?_

"He – he … we're going to take him with us," she decided. She gifted her farmer with a big smile. "Since you've been very willing to help us," she told him, who was looking uncertainly at her, "and have in fact defended us against your own co-workers, which I assume is an indication that you don't like your job here that much, it's time now for you to decide if you want to stay here wasting away your life or if you want to come with us to expose what's going on in this facility and – well … become an honorable citizen or something … I'm not saying that you aren't honorable," she added quickly, "you fought for the freedom of the press after all –" She stopped when Green Arrow put his hand on her shoulder, "What?"

"Lane. Leave him some room to breathe, will you?"

But the young man didn't react to Lois's litany; instead he backed away in the direction of the stairs. Lois noticed the trickle of blood running down the side of his neck. "You don't want to?" she asked, mightily disappointed. "Why not?"

"I can't," he said so softly she had to strain her ears.

Lois frowned, "Why?" She tried to grin, "It's not like you're a prisoner here, right?"

He blinked, looking at his feet, "I _am_ … a prisoner," he said very quietly and Lois hardly heard him because she'd stepped to the still open door to look out into the rainy darkness. "Whatever," she shrugged, "now's your chance to fight for a better world." But as she turned around again, he'd moved away into the shadows even farther. That was when a thought occurred to her, "It's because of your sickness, isn't it?"

When he only looked at her in silence, Green Arrow chimed in, "Whatever that sickness is, you seem to have it pretty much under control, buddy. I wouldn't worry about it so much if I were you."

No response. Lois felt the soles of her feet tickle with impatience. "I'm going to explain it to you one more time," she said, "so listen. You can either come with us and be my star source for my upcoming article on the evilness of this facility. _Or_ you can stay here and go on supporting the evilness. Although in that case it would be nice of you to at least give me your phone number for a later update …" _Oh shut up Lane. I bet he doesn't even have a phone._

He looked more torn than ever, the dim light accentuating his frown. "Come with you," he slowly said.

"_Yes_! Why is that decision so difficult?" The blood trickling down his neck was getting to her. Absent-mindedly, she rummaged in her bag for a tissue and stepped forward to push it into his hand; he flinched, but their fingers brushed briefly.

"See?" Lois said, raising her eyebrows, "I touched you and I didn't drop dead!"

Green Arrow was standing in the door peering out into the night. "I'm sorry lad, but we'll need a decision _now_," he chimed in, not turning around. "I'm seeing more flashlights out there; they're quickly coming closer." Using a more even tone, he added, "And just as a hint, I don't think that whoever manages this facility will be very pleased with you having helped intruders and having knocked out a couple of your own colleagues. So what do you say?"

"I don't kn–" He broke off in the middle of the word. Very slowly, his uncertainty seemed to dissipate. He lifted his chin, "Alright."

"Good," Green Arrow said, readying his crossbow to protect their exit. "There's no time to get your things but if I were you I'd maybe take some shoes."

Their host scurried around a corner; when he came back half a minute later he wore black boots which Lois had to admit were kind of stylish. Although they did look a little ridiculous in combination with pajama pants of course.

"Right," Lois said, "now all we have to do is keep out of sight of all those little devils out there. Come on, let's go!"

She was surprised when her dark-haired farmer spoke up hesitantly behind her, "I know a better way."

oOo

After somehow dodging all the swarming guards by keeping close to the small supply buildings at the back of the facility grounds Lois was extremely relieved when they finally reached her faithful car. Their new companion, however, was staring suspiciously at the wetly glistening metal in front of him. Lois, holding the passenger seat door open for him, frowned incredulously; he'd climbed every wall and fence without complaint and now he was distrustful of a car?

"What's up?" she asked, severely pissed off by the failure of her plan and by the rain and her tiredness and now also by him. "You look as if you've never been in a car before."

His reply consisted of a weird glance before he silently climbed in, folding his long legs awkwardly against the dashboard.

"Right. I gotta go," Green Arrow announced, "and you should too. I guess I'll see you –" He paused, looking at Lois, "what was his name again?"

She opened her mouth, then faltered, "I … I didn't ask …"

She felt herself blush, possibly more deeply than ever before. "Oh my god. I forgot to ask. I can't believe I forgot to ask your name – I'm so sorry!" she blurted, looking embarrassedly at her farmer.

What had happened? It surely wasn't like her to forget to ask the names of people. Always _know_ your source, wasn't it?

What was it with her acting out of character all night?

More likely than not she was already calling him something subconsciously when she referred to him in her thoughts. But what?

"Um. It's okay," he was shyly saying as an answer to her excuse.

Gorgeous. Hot stuff. Had to be something like that. Even with the ugly pajamas …

"So what is it?" Green Arrow inquired.

"Huh?" the object of Lois's contemplation asked. Apparently she wasn't the only one with her thoughts far away.

"Your name."

He cleared his throat, "Clark."

Weird name. But it suited him for sure.

"And …?"

"And what?"

"You have a last name too?"

"Oh." He hesitated, looking thoughtful for a moment. "Kent," he said, then. "Clark Kent."

"Okay, Clark Kent. So where can we drop you off?"

This time he didn't hesitate as long. He even smiled a little. "Smallville."

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A/N 1: I know Green Arrow or his equipment never fail on the show, but I figured even superheroes might have bad luck from time to time ;)

A/N 2: As you may well have noticed by now English isn't my native language, and I know that I have some issues. That's why I'm looking for a beta reader – so if there's someone interested in the job out there please let me know :)


	3. 3: A new place

Thank you for the reviews, they are very much appreciated! Also thanks to all the people who put my story on their alert lists.

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_3: A new place_

"So the bathroom is over there," Lois said, pointing, "and the light switch for the kitchen area is here. And this is the fridge, in case you get thirsty. I think there's even some beer left."

He just looked at her, eyes big and insecure. He was obviously still nervous. In the car he'd pretty much pulled himself together – although Lois suspected that for some reason he'd been terrified – but since they'd come up to the Talon apartment he seemed to be slowly losing his composure.

"I'm going to get you some spare blankets," Lois said; she didn't know what to make of his silence. But it was nearly two am, and she didn't plan on staying up much longer just so he would maybe work up some courage for a real conversation. Tomorrow morning would be early enough for that.

His jacket and black denims were wet, so she had already given him a pair of blue jogging pants which somebody – probably Jimmy – had left in a drawer. She now opened a closet to get a couple of blankets out and briefly wondered where Chloe was. Since her cousin had started her newest attempt at dating Jimmy – it was the fifth in as many years – some weeks ago she tended to stay out till the early mornings on weekends. Chloe had changed somewhat since she'd finished college; Lois doubted she'd been the kind of person to turn night into day when she'd been fresh off high school.

"Here you are." Lois pushed the blankets into her guest's hands; he stepped back automatically. He still insisted in always keeping at least one meter's distance between them.

Lois dismissed his antics with a tired shrug. "See you in the morning?" she asked, already turning away. "Then we can look for your mystery woman, and you can give me that interview."

His _mystery woman_ apparently lived in Smallville but he had no idea where exactly. That was the reason she'd invited him to stay the night in the first place – she thought it wouldn't be fair of her to just dump him at some motel when she'd practically abducted him.

She'd reached her bedroom halfway when she heard his tentative voice behind her, "I feel like I forgot something." She turned and saw him blink, evidently thinking hard. "Something important …"

Lois smiled briefly. "Whatever it is, don't kill yourself over it, okay? I still need you." With that she wanted to close the door behind her, but he wouldn't let her.

"Um … Miss Lane?"

She sighed tonelessly. "Yes?"

His jaw worked, "Why do you … let me stay at your … apartment?"

She rolled her eyes. "Easy. You helped me. I help you." Also, _Do whatever it takes to get the story._ Rule number three.

Her reply didn't seem to satisfy him, "But how do you know I won't – … that I won't come –"

"That you won't come when I'm asleep and murder me with an axe, splattering my brains all over the mattress?" Lois said, noticing immediately that she'd snubbed him with her colorful words but not really caring. "There's no axe anywhere within reach. And I guess I trust you as far as farmers living next to Luthorcorp facilities go."

His weird expression spoke volumes. Lois frowned, suddenly convinced that she'd overlooked something. "Hey. You _are_ a farmer, right? You didn't just say that so I would trust you?" Had he? Suddenly her heart was racing. What was it with that weird hunted look in his eyes?

"I'm …"

"Yes? I'm listening."

He hesitated. Lois suddenly remembered something. "Those guards," she said slowly, "they said … they said you worked with the 'freaks'. The meteor-infected. Didn't they?" Oh man. How could she have missed that?

"I didn't – …" He stopped, his face paling slightly; Lois could see he was torn between telling her all the truth and trying to convince her of his harmlessness. "I just brought them food," he finished at last, glancing shyly at her.

Lois put her hands on her hips, "Oh you can say it." Her voice slipped just a little out of control, "You are a 33.1 _guard_."

He only stared at her.

Lois closed in on him and he backed away further until he was stopped by the table. "Come on, say it." She realized with satisfaction that she'd managed to intimidate him, even though he was so much taller than her.

He cleared his throat, "Yes. I am. A guard."

"Alright." But she wasn't alright. He'd lied to her. He wasn't just someone who happened to be the neighbor of a 33.1 facility. He _worked_ in there. She'd had her fair share of experiences with Luthorcorp guards in the last couple of years, and they were usually brutal, ruthless, devious, and trigger-happy.

Okay, so maybe she was biased. So far _he_ had been behaving very differently. He had defended them even at the risk of being injured. She still hadn't gotten over that.

But was he really supposed to be the big exception?

She realized she didn't exactly know what to do now, or what to say to him. This changed a lot, didn't it? If only she hadn't been so tired she perhaps could think better …

He'd watched her intently, and after a while he spoke, very quietly, "They … they forced me. I never wanted to … do that."

A long time passed before Lois felt she could answer, "Who? Who forced you?"

He lowered his eyes. "Lionel," he finally said, so softly Lois hardly heard it.

"Lionel _Luthor_?" she asked, astonished. "You knew Lionel Luthor? I mean up, close and personal?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her.

"Wha-ow." Already Lois's reporter-mind was throbbing with the new possibilities this little twist presented. A 33.1 guard who was unwilling to do his job, who had been forced into the system … She could already see the headline before her. Front page for sure.

But if she was honest with herself she knew that a part of her was crestfallen. Because she'd thought she was fairly good at judging people. And also because she'd secretly liked the idea of him being a well-built, slightly dorky farm boy.

Only because that would have made the coming interrogations for her article a lot easier, of course.

_Right Lane, as if – … Now get a grip._ She really had no idea why she had to remind herself of that so often since she knew him.

"Right," she said to buy some time. He was glancing at her, his head still bent, as if he expected her to yell at him or slap him across the face. "I'm not going to slap you," she said just for the fun of it. He reacted with a slight nod but remained completely serious.

"Right," Lois repeated. "Whatever. We're going to go through this in the morning, okay? You can tell me everything, but you'll have to wait until I have a clear head."

Having said that, she slipped into her bedroom before he could call on her again. She put on her nightgown by the light of her bedside lamp and then sat down on the edge of her mattress; she briefly contemplated starting her laptop to write down some quick notes for her article but decided she was too tired for that. She was going to find out everything there was to know about her guest the next day. _Now just lie down already and get some shut-eye, you're gonna be needing it tomorrow._

But now that she had the chance she felt a strange restlessness, and she found herself listening to what _he_ was doing outside her door. Had he lain down already? Didn't sound like it.

_You cannot just leave him be, can you Lois?_ she asked herself when she got up again and sneaked back into the apartment's main room. The light was dim here, and the noise of the fridge seemed overwhelmingly loud. She needed a moment to spot _him_; he stood by the window, looking out onto the quiet street, his shoulders slightly hunched. After a minute, he turned and walked slowly around the room on naked feet, glancing at all the furniture, the kitchen equipment, the posters and pictures on the walls. Lois couldn't be entirely certain about his facial expression given the lack of light, but it looked suspiciously like awe.

Seriously?

He still hadn't noticed her standing in the door. "Hey," she quietly called, and as she'd expected he jumped slightly, then quickly turned around to her. "Just wondering why you aren't sleeping," Lois said with a brief smile. "I saw you yawning in the car."

He returned her smile just as briefly, "I don't know. I guess I have … a lot going through my head."

She nodded knowingly, "You're still wondering if you did the right thing."

Silence, and big puppy dog eyes staring at her.

Lois sighed, "You _did_ the right thing."

He cleared his throat, "How do you know?"

"Because turning away from Luthorcorp is _always_ a good thing!" she exclaimed. Didn't he know the last thing about good and evil in this world?

He nodded, unconvinced, "Ah."

Lois contemplated him for a moment. _Gah, he looks really silly with his wet hair and those clothes. And why the hell is my heart beating like that? Honestly Lois, get a gr –_

"Are you maybe afraid they're going to come after you?" she asked, hoping he wouldn't see her slight blush.

He shrugged, "I don't know."

"Well if they do …" Lois switched on her most generous smile, "Never fear. I'm going to protect you."

He nodded, but apparently couldn't bring himself to smile in turn.

Lois waved in the direction of the couch. "Will you lie down now? I hope you don't mind me saying that but you've been walking around here as if you've never been in someone else's home before and it's making me –" Not nervous. "Impatient." There.

"Of course," he said, intimidated again, and slowly walked up to the couch.

Lois watched him making a fuss of lying down and draping the blankets over himself. The couch was much too short for him, forcing him to bend his knees. It looked awkward.

Somehow she was really regretting having offered him to stay the night. If only he hadn't been so weird … Well, if they didn't find his mystery woman the next day she would make sure to get him a motel room somewhere.

He wasn't the first source she allowed to spend the night on her couch, not by a long shot. Sometimes, if you wanted a really good article, you had to make sacrifices.

And if truth be told she hadn't thought that letting _him_ sleep on her couch was that big a sacrifice. After all, he was more or less the most handsome guy she'd ever seen. But that was before she'd known he was a Luthorcorp guard, and an exceedingly weird one at that.

But still, he was gorgeous and diffident and seemed to be just fine with following her every order. Did it matter then that he was a little odd? No.

Yes, it does. She slapped herself against her forehead and groaned softly. Come on Lane, stop dreaming! You're not even in bed yet!

Lois's hand crept to the light switch to darken the room, but stopped one inch short of it. From where she was standing she had a good view of him squeezing on the couch. The weak light somehow accentuated his features in an interesting way. For the first time she noticed his thick dark lashes, and the small scar at the bottom of his chin. She wondered where it came from.

_Yeah right. _Off went the light.

She tiptoed her way back to her bed and just as she wanted to lie down on it she heard a soft, "Miss Lane?"

She rolled her eyes so much it almost hurt and groaned, "My name is _Lois_. It's not like I'm calling you Mr. Kent, is it?" She wasn't really calling him anything out loud, up to now, but that wasn't why she suddenly hesitated. "Are you by any chance related to Senator Kent?" she asked with new interest. Now _that_ would be a headline …

"No."

Okay. Well. Whatever. "What was it you wanted?"

Ten seconds passed, then, "It's nothing. I'm sorry."

Lois sighed, snuggling into the cushions. "Yeah. Good night." She closed her eyes, breathing evenly, and successfully ignored the feeling in her guts that with him she'd invited trouble into her home.

oOo

In a nearly empty late-night bar close to Metropolis's riverside a cell phone beeped discreetly. A woman's hand picked it up to read the message. It elicited a broad smile.

"What is it?" the woman's partner asked. "Has one of your patients been declared healthy and harmless?"

"At two in the morning? No, Jimmy. It's from Lois."

"At two in the morning?" he repeated, grinning. "Has she brought home some guy?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Chloe Sullivan could hardly contain her smile as she read aloud, "'When you get home don't mind the guy on the couch. He is a source.'"

Jimmy Olsen spluttered into his beer, "_'The guy on the couch?'_"

Chloe shrugged, fingering her own bottle. Jimmy didn't want to leave the subject so soon, though. "Does she always excuse her guys as sources?"

Chloe smiled sweetly at him, "Probably. If they don't happen to be billionaires."

Jimmy nodded, "Oh yeah … _him_ …"

"I don't really want to talk about Lois, Jimmy." She reached across their table to touch his shoulder. "I want to talk about us."

"Yeah." Downing the rest of his beer, Jimmy looked across the dimly lit bar, "You know, it's just that I don't know any more issues to talk about, and look, we're almost the last people left here so maybe we should –"

"I just suggested a topic," Chloe said patiently. "_Us_."

"Um. Okay." His bright blue eyes tentatively locked onto hers. "I think I know where this is going."

"I didn't even start, Jimmy," Chloe said, grinning at him. She'd just had enough alcohol to feel like her problems weren't actually as hard to solve as she'd maybe thought before. "Before we began _this_, we said we wanted to keep it more down-to-earth this time."

Jimmy nodded, looking a little worried, "Yeah."

"What … what do you personally feel is down-to-earth, Jimmy?"

"Here we go again," Jimmy mumbled, looking at his empty beer. "Chloe, it's two in the morning. You don't need to be a psychologist right now."

Chloe frowned, tilting her head. "I'm not trying to be. I just want to know if what we have meets your expectations."

Jimmy slowly shook his head, "I don't want to analyze our relationship."

"Me neither." She smiled, "You learned from last time, huh? You were overanalyzing things."

He shrugged, "Maybe." He looked at her, creasing his forehead slightly, "So why are you asking?"

"I want to know if this is working. I know that you used to think I didn't have enough time for you –"

"That wasn't fair of me, Bright-eyes. I can admit that now," Jimmy said, smiling cautiously at his girlfriend. "You'd just finished college and threw yourself into the job at the Foundation as if –"

"As if it was what I'd always been hoping for," Chloe interrupted, lowering her eyes to the table, her fingers playing with the scratches in the wood. "Which it wasn't." She sounded hoarse all of a sudden.

"Chlo. Look at me." Jimmy's voice grew almost desperate, "Please. There's no need to – … You've already helped lots of people! You're helping me all the time." He leaned forward to awkwardly pat her hand, "Come on, hon –"

Chloe suddenly lifted her head. Her eyes were completely dry and her lips were grinning, "Thanks for your kindness, Jimmy."

"Chlo!" Jimmy exclaimed, exasperated, "I thought you were going to start crying on me!" He half-laughed, "You're one mean girl!"

"And I always manage to take you for the ride," Chloe grinned. "Don't worry, Jimmy. I'm fine."

"Well I'm not so sure about that," her boyfriend said. "I think this is the part where you talk, and then talk a bit more, and I listen. Let's do that. Just let me get another beer."

But Chloe suddenly smiled and reached over the table to grip his sleeve, "Actually I'm not in the mood for more talking."

He only stared at her in confusion, which made her laugh. "Come on," she said, "you know how this is bound to end."

He stared some more, then shook his head and grinned slowly. "Really Chlo, since when have you become so calculating?"

She shrugged, "Does it matter? Let's go." She got up, reaching for her jacket. Jimmy peered across the dim room toward a window, "Um. Do you have an umbrella? It's raining like hell."

"So what?" she asked with an even wider grin. "We'll get warm again soon enough."

While Jimmy followed her to the door he muttered, "It's kind of weird. Our nights always seem to end very soon with us landing in some bed or other these days. I'm wondering if –"

"Remember what we said about overanalyzing?" Chloe asked, her hand on the door.

Jimmy spluttered, "Says the shrink!"

"Exactly." Chloe opened the door, shivering slightly in the draft of cold air that came in.

Jimmy caught up with her, fiddling with the collar of his trench coat. "Your place or my place?" he panted. "God, I feel like a seventeen year-old again!"

Chloe turned around to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, "So? That was a good time. It was when I got to know you."

Jimmy swallowed, "As I recall the couch in your place is already occupied, so –"

She stretched and kissed him. "Who said anything about a couch?" she breathed, locking their lips again.

"Let me finish," he grinned, barely able to talk between her kisses, "I wanted to say there's a nice and pretty large bed waiting for us at my –"

"Just what I wanted to hear," Chloe cut him short, clinging tightly to his shoulders. "Let's go."

Jimmy led her out into the pouring rain, smiling to himself, and muttered, "_Down-to-earth._ But of course my dear …"

oOo

Unmoving, Clark lay in the dark, staring at nothing, his head full of thoughts. He knew full well there was no way he would find sleep this night, but he still clang to the blankets tightly, the blankets that smelled faintly of _her_.

He had no clue why she fascinated him so much. And then again, he did have an idea, starting with her being the first non-meteor-infected, normal woman his age he'd ever met.

But that couldn't be the reason he'd let her do this. Let her take him with her away from his home to _her_ home.

Whatever had he been thinking?

Not too much it seemed. Otherwise he'd never have done the most stupid thing in the world.

Martha would be so furious.

And Lionel … he didn't really want to imagine what Lionel's reaction would be had he still been alive. He probably would have been so disappointed in Clark that Clark wouldn't have dared to meet his eyes for ages.

What the hell had gotten into him?

So they had overwhelmed him there, Lois and her strange ally, the Green Arrow, but that wasn't an excuse. It didn't justify him hiding these intruders when he should have reported them to the perimeter guards immediately. It also didn't justify him defending them against Bob and André and knocking the guards out cold. And most of all it didn't justify him going with them.

He still couldn't quite grasp that he'd really done it. He had left the facility. He'd gotten over the fence. He'd climbed into a car and come here, to Smallville, that almost mythical place Martha had told him so much about.

He was really here, and it still made his heart race. Even now that he was just lying there everything seemed different. He heard the occasional car passing the building outside when he'd never heard traffic noise at the facility at night. The apartment smelled of people living in it, of food and worn clothes and paper and ink and flowers and of _her_.

_Lois_. "Lois," he whispered tonelessly just to feel her name on his lips and then felt embarrassed for doing it. She'd been standing in front of his door like some mystical creature that had gotten lost. She'd been loud, and intense, and unyielding. And she'd completely floored him with her unbelievable behavior.

It was almost as if he didn't have another choice than to support her.

That was at least what he kept telling himself. Who could have foreseen that she'd want to abduct him in order to get information for her newspaper article? Why was that so important anyway?

So he knew that his own actions were irresponsible. He knew that there was a chance he would infect her. But he'd warned her about it – several times actually – and she still didn't bother. So that wasn't his fault. Was it?

No. It wasn't that easy. It hadn't been his fault as long as she was on his home turf, where she didn't belong. But it was surely his irresponsibility to accompany her here where anybody could get infected by him. But it was too late. He'd already seized his chance, disregarding the risk, ignoring his conscience.

He'd seized his chance for freedom.

"Freedom," he mouthed, blinking into the dark. What a weird word. It had different connotations for everybody. For him it meant the opportunity to discover a world outside of the fence.

Until today, he'd never actually considered himself a prisoner. _Prisoner_ was such an ugly word; were the meteor-infected prisoners? They were being held for their own good, right? They were in the facility so they didn't endanger others or themselves.

He wasn't a prisoner, he was a nobody; a sick nobody who could feel lucky that Lionel had been kind enough to give him a home and something to do, something to go on living. Even if it wasn't much.

Clark was good at his job. He'd managed the entire farm on his own, had looked after the animals, had tended to the gardens, had harvested fruit, vegetables and hay. His days had always been full, all year round. He'd never had much leisure time to think or to worry, but he'd never missed it either.

He'd had enough to do but not so much that it started to get annoying. And it had been a fulfilling job.

Which for the last seven years had also included supplying the meteor-infected with food as well as looking after the keeping technology. He'd lied to Lois, of course. They hadn't forced him to play guard. Lionel had never forced him to do anything.

He didn't really know why he'd lied to her. Or maybe he did. She was the first normal girl – and a pretty one at that – who'd come into his life, and he hadn't wanted to instantly lose her again. Or at least a part of him hadn't, the part he mostly suppressed, the part who was a daydreamer, the part who wanted a change even if he didn't know what kind of change; the part that sometimes caught himself wishing he could just jump out of the window and fly away. Or something like that.

The other, larger part of him, however, was still cringing at the thought of how many of his own rules he'd broken tonight when he'd helped them, fought the guards, and run away.

The fact that he'd really done it, that he'd turned his back on his home, kept on churning inside of him with all the feelings of wrongness and failure it brought about. What a stupid decision he had made. He knew it would entail a bunch of problems, not only for him but probably for Lois too.

Why was he doing this to her?

He realized he still had a chance to set things right again. He could get back and out of Lois's life before he'd had a greater impact on it. His escape wasn't a one-way ticket, was it? Returning would be the responsible thing to do.

But _responsible_ was a word he'd already heard too often in his life.

oOo

He fell asleep after all, but came to again maybe an hour later only to realize that he felt weak.

No, _weak_ wasn't quite strong enough to describe the condition he was in. He noticed with shock that he could hardly move, that his arms and legs felt as if they weighed tons, and that his skin was covered with cold sweat everywhere.

He had never felt so weak in his life, so completely depleted of all energy.

What in the world was happening?

He lay feebly on his back, breathing heavily but feeling as though he couldn't draw nearly enough air into his lungs. His thoughts were agonizingly slow; they seemed to stick to the walls of his skull and refused to move. Disconnected words, ideas, emotions he couldn't quite place kept wandering through his mind, confusing him and making him nervous. His eyes couldn't distinguish much in the gloom surrounding him but he did see that he wasn't in his bedroom; slowly he remembered he was at Lois's place, that she was sleeping right next door. He tried to decide if he should maybe wake her, to see if she knew what was wrong with him, but he didn't want to get on her nerves, and anyway he doubted he could even call out to her, let alone get to his feet.

He had to get through this on his own.

But that proved to be more difficult by the minute, and he felt on the brink of fainting. What was this? His heart was beating a little erratically too, and a strange burning feeling was slowly spreading through his body, bit by bit draining him almost on a cellular level. What was more, his head began to pulse with pain as well, and a strong pain it was, each throb bringing tears to his eyes.

He lay there stiffly and helplessly, too weak to even groan, and waited for the horrible feeling to end. To no avail; it kept getting worse. It threw him into dizziness when he did nothing more than lift his hand a little to touch his face; his skin was cold and sticky with sweat, and with something else, too. Below his nostrils a viscous liquid had pooled; when he smeared it on his fingertips and, very slowly, held his fingers up into the dim light of a streetlamp that came through a window he only just managed to discern it as being a faint blue in color.

And in the middle of his agony he suddenly knew what it was he'd forgotten about since getting into that car with Lois.

Oh no.

* * *

A/N: There you are. The next update will probably take some time … however, a couple of reviews might speed up the process :)


	4. 4: Martha's mistake

Okay, so this chapter is dedicated to Cloismycel who wrote me two reviews to speed up my writing – and succeeded. I'm posting this at least two days earlier than originally planned. YAY!

Also a big thank you to all the other people who reviewed. Feedback of any kind always makes my day :D

I have a feeling this chapter (the longest yet) is a little more slow-paced than the previous ones and it was also kind of hard to write. But I hope you have fun :)

* * *

_4: Martha's mistake_

Lois had been trying to think about her article after she'd crawled under the covers, but sleep had quickly claimed her. She was so tired that she'd slept like a stone, not even dreaming, and when she woke she knew for certain that it was too soon.

She woke to the sounds of someone _pacing_. And as if that wasn't enough, it wasn't even normal pacing; no, the steps were dragged and irregular as if the pacing individual could barely walk, and this maddening irregularity slowly got to her. "Oh for god's sake …" Lois mumbled into her pillow, unwilling to lift her head and be confronted with the bright light of day, but knew she couldn't stall much longer. The footsteps seemed to stop right in front of her door from time to time, as if someone was listening, before they were resumed once more. Lois lay flat on her back for a while, trying to come to terms with the fact that she wouldn't fall asleep again, and lazily glanced at her alarm clock; it was almost eleven. She could probably as well get up. But still … "You're gonna regret this, _Clark_," she muttered as she swung her feet onto the floor.

Unconsciously, in the moments before waking she had been nursing a rather romantic idea of seeing him sleepily on the couch. He'd surely look cute with a bed head. But after she'd put a cardigan over her nightgown and opened her bedroom door, neither that idea nor her intent to reprimand him proved to be suitable for the situation at hand.

"What the hell _happened_ to you?" Lois asked, wide-eyed. Stopped by her entrance, Clark stood in front of her like a nervous animal; he was pale as a sheet, his skin glistened with partially dried sweat, and his whole swaying posture made him look almost frail – and definitely sick.

He didn't answer immediately, and Lois tilted her head to take in his appearance, "You look … terrible." That didn't quite cover it.

Clark only stared back at her for a moment, as if he had a hard time to even grasp the meaning of her words; then, he suddenly stepped forward, "You need to drive me back." His chin lifted decisively.

Lois blinked. "To the facility?" What was he babbling about?

"Yes." He looked determined, although she noticed his hands were trembling slightly, as were his knees. It almost looked like … hmm. She couldn't really put her finger on it.

"Okay, stop." She brushed her hair out of her face, "What is this about? What happened?"

His lips were quivering, too. "I forgot."

She rolled her eyes. Couldn't he speak in whole sentences? "Forgot what?"

"My medication."

Lois groaned. "For that sickness of yours you mean?"

He nodded vividly, "I really _need_ my medication." His gaze was very intense now.

"Okay, hold on." She gesticulated with her hand in hopes to calm him down. "What was that sickness again?"

"It's dangerous." He began moving once more. "I … I didn't take my medicine at midnight, and not at eight o'clock this morning. I already forgot twice. And I … when I wanted to sleep, I couldn't. I had this … fit. I was so weak. I still am."

"Yeah, you really don't look good," Lois admitted, eying him closely. "Maybe you should sit down –"

But he kept on pacing, slowly, on wobbly legs. The sight was hard to put up with.

_This isn't fair. I haven't even had my first cup of coffee yet. _Lois sighed. "So you're already having withdrawal symptoms, huh?" Right. Didn't drug addicts who hadn't had a shot in a while usually show trembling hands as well? Was he a junkie?

He shook his head, hesitated, then nodded. "It was … worse during the night. I couldn't even move for a couple of hours, like I was paralyzed. It got a little better in the morning somehow, but it's still … I'm feeling awful."

Lois snorted, "Why the hell didn't you wake me?"

It took him a moment to answer, "I … I didn't want to. To annoy you, I mean."

_Right,_ Lois thought_. Sorry my dear, but you paced in front of my door for hours. Talk about annoying._

"I see," she said aloud, trying to use a cheerful tone despite everything; you were supposed to always start your day with a smile, right? Maybe it would work.

She shuffled over into the kitchen and began to fill the coffee machine. "You know what, just sit down and we'll think of a way to get your medicine. I'm sure things aren't as bleak as they seem." Satisfied, she observed the coffee being made – oh, the wonders of modern technology – and inhaled the scent. Perfect.

Her smile dropped swiftly off her face as she turned around to her guest. He hadn't sat down, no, far from it; in fact he was closer to her now, and his expression was downright scary. "What?" Lois asked; for a frantic second she tried to remember where she'd put her pepper spray.

"I … I think you don't understand." His voice was quiet and a little hoarse, "If I don't take my medication regularly it highly increases the … risk that I could infect you."

Lois took a step backwards. "I already told you that I wouldn't sue you," she said, but her try at humor didn't even convince herself. After all he really _was_ looking sick now.

He shook his head, "I have to leave before anything happens."

_Huh – what?_ Lois blinked. "No!" she said, louder than she'd intended, "we'll get your medicine, okay? Just tell me what it's called and I'll call the pharmacist's to see –"

But he didn't relent, "You can't buy it. It's … specifically made."

"God!" Now Lois was frustrated. "If I had known that things would turn out so complicated with you I – …"

"You wouldn't have burdened yourself with me?" he finished questioningly. Lois, who'd just poured herself a cup of coffee, looked at him in confusion; he sometimes used damn weird words.

"Well, if there's someone who should beat themselves up, it's me," she said, trying to placate him, and sighed. He truly looked so bad she could almost imagine invisible germs of the most horrible kind buzz around in the slightly stale air of the apartment. Sipping at her cup she walked over to one of the windows, "You know what, I need some fresh air." She opened the window and pulled the curtain aside; drafts of cool air crept in, along with broad beams of an astoundingly bright late morning sun.

Lois let it shine on her face for a minute, reveling in the warmth, before she turned around again. "Now, where were we …?"

Her guest wasn't looking at her; his gaze was fixed on the open window. He slowly walked closer, an odd expression of confusion mixed with awe on his face.

_What now?_ Lois asked herself. She watched him step up to the window until he was bathed in the strong sunlight; it dyed his pale skin golden and made his eyes shine an intense emerald green. He just stood there for a long moment, absolutely silent. It was as if he'd forgotten all about where he was.

Lois finally cleared her throat, "Um …" She managed to shake him out of his reverie. He turned around to her, eyes big, but his shoulders were straight for the first time, as were his knees.

What was this? Lois didn't even realize she was staring. The color had returned to his face, the trembling had stopped, and the weakness that had been so apparent was completely gone. He'd stepped into the sunlight as a gravely sick man and out of it again looking perfectly healthy.

"What happened?" she managed to choke out in a thin voice.

"I don't know," he replied, and it sounded honest. "But I feel … much better."

She frowned, "In what way?"

"In an amazing way." And he looked himself up and down and ran a hand over his face as if he couldn't believe his sudden recovery himself.

"Er … right." Lois tilted her head. "So you've been … _healed_. By the sun."

He nodded insecurely, "That doesn't make any sense, does it?" He eyed her as if he was expecting her to declare him crazy.

"Nope, it doesn't," Lois clarified. "How did you know you had to get into the sun anyway?"

"I didn't." He looked thoughtful. "Or I would've done it sooner."

"And you think your … sickness … has been _contained_?"

A slow nod, "At least for now."

"So what did you do before when your sickness broke out?"

"It never did." He ran a hand through his already tousled dark hair and sighed, "I always took my medication."

"It's convenient, isn't it?" Lois asked, feeling slightly hysterical all of a sudden, "just having to go into the sun to recover?"

Her words sounded insane to her own ears. And ridiculous. And maybe just a little scary. She never would have listened to anyone telling her a story like this. But she'd seen it happening with her own eyes …

Who the hell _was_ he?

He was looking at her with a slightly raised eyebrow, as if he didn't trust her words anymore than she did. He was hard to read, but Lois was relatively sure that inside he was reeling as much as she was.

And now what? What was a woman supposed to do after having witnessed something that for all she'd ever believed was impossible?

This was the point at which she reminded herself that she was Lois Lane, army brat and ass reporter, who was afraid of nothing. Nothing in the world.

She noticed that she was clinging to her cup so much that her knuckles had gone white, but the coffee was cold by now, of course. She looked at her hovering guest with a thoughtful eye. "Feeling up to some breakfast?"

oOo

Clark hadn't said anything of course but he must have been _hungry_. Lois watched him stuff himself with growing incredulity, swallowing audibly when he helped himself to his third portion of scrambled eggs and toast. He heard the noise and looked at her, instantly blushing. "I'm sorry. I … I don't know what's up with me." At least he was talking in a slightly more relaxed way since he had recovered.

"Don't worry, there's enough." Lois placated him with a smile. She suddenly remembered that she hadn't checked her cell phone yet. She walked over to the counter where she'd put it and saw that she'd received several texts. "Aha. Someone's becoming impatient," she muttered.

Her guest looked over at her, and Lois shrugged, "Chloe. My cousin – she lives here, too," she explained. "She already sent me three messages. It seems she's stuck at Jimmy's – that's her boyfriend – and wants me to pick her up. But you know what? She's going to have to wait a little longer." She grinned slyly and fished under the counter for her voice recorder and notepad, "I thought that when you're finished we could start on our interview."

He'd been diving into another helping of eggs, but her words stopped him, "Interview?"

"Yeah – you know, about the facility?" Lois said cheerfully. "Although come to think of it, we could also talk a little about _you_, seeing as you're apparently not as regular as one might think – …"

She trailed off when she noticed that some sort of metaphorical door had evidently shut in his gaze. "Or not," she added softly. She was just contemplating how she might draw him out when her cell phone started ringing; _I need a hero_ cutting through the quiet of the midmorning.

"Oh please." Lois picked it up, "Chloe, I'm sure you can wait for another half an hour when you've already spent all night there? … He did _what_? … Yeah, the couch guy is still here – … no. Okay … yeah, I'm coming." She slid the phone into her pants pocket and reached for her cup to finish the rest of her coffee, "So my unbelievable cousin just talked me into picking her up _now_. I really have no idea how she does that." She shook her head and smiled briefly at Clark, who finally seemed to be full judging by his empty plate, hands, and mouth. "You won't run away while I'm gone for an hour, will you?" she asked him, suddenly afraid he might take his chance to bolt.

He only shook his head and smiled tentatively back at her.

"Alright," Lois said, looking for her shoes and car keys, "make yourself at home. You can use my computer if you want. Oh, and you know what?" She turned around to gift him with her brightest grin, "I'll get you some clothes on the way back. I might just know where to look."

She slipped her shoes on and grabbed her purse, glancing over at him one last time before she left. He looked annoyingly handsome and utterly innocent.

Whatever … She sighed and closed the door. At least she would have some time to think in the car.

oOo

At first Clark had been unsure about how he would manage to survive one entire hour on his own here in this place, but then he forgot all about Lois as he was discovering the wonders of the Internet.

The computer was different from the ones at the facility – which he'd seen to from time to time in order to check the security systems – but he still worked his way through it very quickly. He delved into the World Wide Web holding his breath and was soon so engrossed in it that he stopped thinking about where he was and even about what had happened to him earlier that day.

Why had Martha and Lionel been so mean and kept something as wonderful as the Internet from him all this time?

One of the first things he did after he'd familiarized himself with the basic functions of the Internet browser was starting a search on the term _Kent farm_. And sure enough, it turned out that the farm had its own homepage with descriptions, information for business partners and pictures. Clark inhaled deeply as he spotted a picture of a smiling Martha at the top of the main page – Martha alongside her husband, Jonathan, whom he'd never met but heard a million things about. As the text on the website related, Jonathan had served as State Senator for Kansas and later on, Senator of the United States and had only returned to being a farmer this year, claiming that he'd achieved what he'd set out to do in Washington and now wanted to re-familiarize himself with his beloved home turf.

As he looked at the pictures and took in the information Clark realized that he really wanted, no, _needed_ to get to finally know this man. In rare moments of melancholy Martha had told him she was sure that the two men in her life would get along great, that if things were only a little different she'd have introduced them to each other years ago. Clark felt a sudden twinge of excitement as he realized that he'd maybe have a chance to meet Jonathan Kent now that he was in Smallville and had his sickness in check.

There it was again, the twitch of incredulity in his chest. He'd actually managed not to think about _that_ for almost half an hour but there was no denying he was still _really_ upset about it. How wouldn't he be? What had happened seemed so very fantastic, so unrealistic, but it had happened nonetheless and hadn't just distressed him but Lois as well. No wonder. From what he'd gathered she thought he was weird before, and now she probably assumed he was one of the meteor-infected himself.

Was he?

No, it couldn't be. But the doubt was there. Only meteor-infected were possibly capable of such feats as overcoming a state of severe illness by simply – and instinctually – stepping into direct sunlight.

He tried to imagine what was happening inside his body to make something as solar energy absorption possible, but drew a blank. It was just too far-fetched an event to even begin to explain it with the little scientific knowledge he possessed. But why was this happening to him of all people? Why should _he_ be able to absorb – and process, in some form or other – sunbeams?

There was only one thing he knew for sure – it didn't feel nearly as wrong as it probably should have.

On the contrary, to be exact – he doubted he had ever felt better in his life, in physical terms at least. It was as if every single cell of his body was bursting with a barely contained vigor. He felt ready to rush out into the world and not stop running until he'd explored every bit of it; only his promise to Lois kept him back.

He suddenly felt compelled to smile a little. It was funny how one tiny moment could change so much. In the morning he'd been sure that returning to the facility would be the best decision. Now he was convinced that life had so much to give him – he'd be a fool to let it go again so soon. No. He would stay a little longer.

He brushed the side of his neck with his hand. The sun hadn't only healed his condition of weakness. There was something else, too. He doubted that Lois had noticed, but he'd realized immediately that the scratch he'd gotten yesterday from fighting that guard had disappeared completely. His fingers didn't even find the faintest trace of it; his skin was unmarred as if it had never been there.

So it didn't make sense. But he'd learned in his line of work that panicking was rarely of use, and consequently he was willing to observe these developments for a while before he started to freak out.

Lois had been gone for almost an hour when Clark decided he needed to go to the bathroom. He went in – the colorful tiles surprising him who was only used to the somewhat dull style of his home – and closed the door. That was when a sharp and completely unforeseen pain erupted in his insides like he'd been hit by a burning fist which now proceeded to dig itself ever deeper into his body. He gasped for air and doubled over, sinking against the wall opposite the sink and spent a number of long moments only trying to get enough breath into his lungs. It seemed like half an eternity had gone by until he was able to straighten up enough to look around for whatever was having this impact on him; it still felt as if his blood itself was on fire.

His squinting eyes needed a minute to spot a piece of irregularly shaped rock on the windowsill which was glowing strangely in an intense green. It seemed completely absurd to link that rock to his pain but there was no denying that the pulsating glow of the rock as well as his agony increased when he slowly edged a few inches closer. He stopped and scuttled back instantly; for all that it was alarming no discovery was worth suffering this amount of pain.

He slipped back into the main room, immensely relieved when the pain receded as soon as he'd gotten a couple of meters between himself and the rock. He stood there for a while, simply breathing as he slowly became aware of the repercussions his newest finding might yet have. This made even less sense than being healed by the sun, didn't it?

Being, for lack of a better word, _allergic_ to a _rock_?

He suddenly wished his host would return soon, if only not to be alone with his anxious thoughts anymore. He sighed, finding comfort in picturing her wide smile and bright eyes before him, and walked slowly back to the computer. His next search would be on Green Arrow, and vigilantes, and one fearless reporter named Lois Lane.

oOo

"Are you really telling me," Lex asked in a voice that he knew instilled fear in his subordinates, "that two of your guards are in hospital, that this facility has been infiltrated by an unknown number of intruders, and that _nobody_ saw _anything_?" He stood on the lawn in front of the main building; the sky was cloudy, and a sharp wind was cutting across the grounds.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Luthor," said the facility supervisor, one Mr. Ericson, who stood before Lex writhing like some particularly ugly lizard, "I already mentioned that since this is a back-up facility the security measures aren't as top notch as in most, and the amount of personnel is also very reduced due to –"

"I know all that, Mr. Ericson," Lex said quietly, "but I'm wondering what you're doing with all the money that Luthorcorp provides you with. I might even think that since this is my very first visit in person you suffered from the delusion that I don't care all that much for this particularly place and, as a result, neglected the management …"

"I can assure you that's not the case, Mr. Luthor," Ericson hurried to say, "we've always kept to the guidelines of Luthorcorp and –"

"You did?" Lex smiled wryly. "As far as I remember those don't include instructions to let intruders run free or even fail to report any possible damage to one's CEO." He turned away from the sorry figure of the supervisor who'd apparently only set foot into his facility every once in a while. The man had been rousted out of bed at six o'clock this morning and had been informed that Lex Luthor himself was due to arrive shortly – for the very first time since the facility's opening. No wonder Ericson couldn't speak properly given his awe towards Lex. Normally Lex was pleased by such reactions, but not today when what was really needed was an explanation.

"I - … there was no damage, sir," the supervisor said behind Lex's back. "The subjects are fine. Nothing is missing."

"I can confirm that, Mr. Luthor," one of Lex's personal agents, who'd just appeared from around a corner, said. "All subjects and personnel are accounted for. And, sir – apparently all the security cameras have either been dodged or temporarily switched off by some kind of clever tool." He twisted his face into a reluctantly impressed smile, "It's the m.o. of the Green Arrow and his gang, sir."

Lex grimaced slightly. "Great, isn't it? So we can be looking forward to some more trouble in the future." He turned to Mr. Ericson once more and raised his voice, "Which is all your doing. Congratulations." Satisfied, he watched the supervisor shrink into the ground before he took a step in the direction of his waiting helicopter.

"Mr. Luthor – sir." Another of his agents was approaching, the collar of his coat raised against the wind, "there's something."

Lex stopped walking and sighed, turning around again, "What?"

"Some of the subjects are talking about missing someone they call _Clarkie_."

Lex smiled patiently, "And that would be? A dog?"

The agent didn't smile, "It seems to be a person."

Lex glanced over the man's head, "And that's important because …?"

The agent cleared his throat, "Because there's no one by that name anywhere in the personal files."

"Really." Lex wondered if this point was really worth dwelling upon. "You're telling me that someone has been working with the subjects who is not on my payroll."

The agent nodded, "It seems that way, sir."

Lex turned to the trembling supervisor once more, "Do you know anything about that, Mr. Ericson?"

"N-no, sir." The man looked as if he wanted nothing more than run away to Alaska or something.

"I'm not surprised," Lex sighed. He glanced at the agent, "Peters, get me someone who actually _knows_ the people who work here."

oOo

Ten minutes later it was established that there was definitely no one named Clarkie, Clark or something similar mentioned on either a personal file or a payroll, yet the facility inmates swore that this man had visited them every day, usually to deal out food.

"I assume you don't have any explanation for this?" Lex asked Ericson.

"No," the supervisor muttered; he'd by now been joined by one of the perimeter guards who looked almost as nervous as his boss.

"Sir, if I may speak?" this man asked cautiously.

Lex stared at him, "You're already speaking."

"Yes … sir." The guard apparently wasn't bold enough to meet Lex's gaze. "There has been talk among my team about someone they call the ghost. A man who nobody knows but who's been glimpsed around the facility for years."

Lex felt compelled to grin, "A _ghost_?"

"That's what they call him, sir." _They_. As if this guard himself would never take part in such nonsense, which Lex doubted.

"And you think this ghost and the man who's been working with the subjects are one and the same?"

"It seems likely, sir."

Lex thought for a moment. "So, this ghost has disappeared since the facility has been infiltrated, which gives reason to believe that he went with the intruders." He frowned, "Which doesn't help us in the slightest." He regarded the two facility employees darkly. He was cold, and he had a business meeting in two hours which he still needed to prepare for; and this talk didn't seem to be getting anywhere.

He would probably have to satisfy himself with dismissing a couple of people and upping the budget for security measures.

He was already turning away when the guard took a step forward, "Sir, I called André today – that's one of the men who've been injured by the intruders – and he said that he was very surprised when he found the ghost at the supply farm. Or at least a man who André thinks was the ghost. He helped the intruders."

Finally a piece of useful information. "Supply farm?" Lex inquired.

"That's the farm which produces the food for the subjects," the supervisor said, clearly glad that he could contribute something.

Lex raised a brow, "There's a _farm_? Here?"

Ericson nodded eagerly, "Yes, sir. It's a special feature of this particular facility, so to speak."

"Really." Lex was more confused than he dared to show. _Why didn't I know anything about that?_

"Yes, sir. If you have some time left I'll show you."

oOo

Clark was gone. And Martha felt like she was stuck in a nightmare.

She had in fact been dreaming about something like this happening back when Clark had been younger. It probably stemmed from not knowing what exactly Lionel had been intending to do with him and her resulting maternal anxiety that something might happen to little Clark, that she'd come to the farm one morning and he wouldn't be there anymore. It used to give her the shivers back in the day. But this worry had slowly ebbed away when Clark had grown to adult age without anybody coming for him and since Lionel had died – not that she'd been happy about that – Martha knew that he was safe. Because nobody knew. Especially not Lionel's fearsome son, Lex. So why was it that her one-time nightmare was returning now, without any warning – that she'd come to the farm like any other day only to find it empty?

She spent all morning looking in the farm buildings and grounds. She even looked behind the security locks towards the facility buildings proper, a place she hadn't set foot in since it was occupied again, and she caught herself running around outside calling his name, even though she'd once sworn never to do that so as not to draw attention from any guards to him. But all her searching was to no avail.

And it wasn't like him to just go away. No. For as long as she could remember, when she came to the farm he'd been waiting for her with freshly made coffee and that cheeky grin on his face that he only ever reserved for her. He wouldn't leave. He _couldn't_ either. He knew he had to take his medicine.

At quarter to eleven, Martha found herself standing in the kitchen looking forlornly at the basket with the fresh blueberries she'd been planning to bake a cake with for the afternoon. Her head felt as empty as the house. Maybe she should start looking after the animals. It wasn't their fault that Clark was gone after all, and they'd surely be hungry by now. But somehow she couldn't bring herself to move.

As her gaze wandered around the kitchen and living room area she suddenly became aware of something which had escaped her notice earlier, given her preoccupation. The floor. It was dirty.

She'd brought Clark up to cleanliness, and she'd never seen the floor in such a state of grime before. There was barely dried mud on it and a number of dirty footprints.

She slowly walked closer. The footprints were of different sizes and forms; they cumulated right in front of the door and now that she paid attention she also noticed a couple of scratches on the wall next to it, almost as if someone had been slammed against it without much care for the wallpaper.

_Oh god_. Had there been a _fight_?

Now that she'd had the idea everything she saw seemed to point to it. A fight. Had they come for Clark after all?

Martha suddenly had tears in her eyes that threatened to spill. She was utterly convinced now that something terrible had happened.

And she almost fainted when she found a thin trickle of dried blood right in front of the door threshold. Was it _his_?

No. She held onto the kitchen counter and forced herself to breathe evenly. _Think, Martha Kent. Think. There has to be something you can do._

Before she'd made a decision of any kind she suddenly heard voices from outside. She flinched; she couldn't remember the last time someone other than her or Clark had been to the farm. This undoubtedly meant trouble.

She edged to the window next to the door and peered out. She instantly noticed two men standing not ten meters away, talking; and Martha had never seen the one on the right side but the one on the left side she recognized straight away. He had a bald head and a cruel streak to his face.

Lex Luthor.

Lex Luthor. She'd only met Lionel's son a couple of times back when he'd campaigned against Jonathan for the State Senate. He'd always been polite, but the Kents knew his true colors. He certainly couldn't be trusted. What was he doing here at the facility? As far as Martha knew – and from what Lionel had always assured her – it figured only as a set of numbers somewhere in a couple of Luthorcorp files. Meteor-infected who'd either proven too weak or too strong to be of immediate use had been disposed of here until further notice. There was no reason for the CEO of Luthorcorp himself to ever visit this place, and he never had.

So why was he here now – and why was he coming straight up to her door?

oOo

After he'd sent away Ericson – who'd told him about the woman who worked at the supply farm but whose name he couldn't remember for the life of him – Lex stepped up to the front door of the farm house and, after a moment of smiling despite himself, knocked. Lex wasn't someone who was used to knocking. Normally, people came to _him_ and asked _him_ to open doors for them. But maybe his present actions were appropriate for this irritating and intriguing day.

There wasn't a reaction. Lex frowned, letting his gaze wander about the windows in the wall, which unfortunately were covered by neat curtains. "Hello?" he finally called. "Someone there?"

Perhaps that woman wasn't in the house right now. She might as well be in the stables or the barn. He was still pretty nonplussed about seeing an entire farm where he'd least expected it, namely right behind one of his 33.1 facilities. He'd have to find out how it got here.

"Mrs. …?" he asked raising his voice, already annoyed. This was beneath him. He was reaching for the door knob when he saw a movement behind one of the curtains. Ah. She'd given herself away.

"I'm just here to ask a couple of questions," he said, trying to sound nothing but friendly. Really, he should have ordered Peters or one of the others to do this. He wasn't sure why he even bothered.

He was just contemplating if the situation at hand was urgent enough to make use of a threat when the door suddenly opened smoothly. A woman's face appeared in the crack – a woman with long hair and bright eyes who looked at him with a mixture of uncertainty and determination.

It was a woman he knew.

"_Martha Kent?_" Lex asked incredulously.

"Mr. Luthor," she replied cautiously.

Lex quickly managed to cover up his surprise, "Would you care to tell me what you're doing here?"

"Um. I work here." She was eying him as if she wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't draw a gun and shoot her on the spot.

Lex smiled at her. "You work here." He saw his smile had the effect he'd expected. "And I always thought you had your own farm back in Smallville."

She twisted her lips, "I do. This is … my day job."

"Of course." He took a step closer to her. "Although I do wonder how you found it, seeing as how it is almost one hour's drive from Smallville, in the middle of nowhere and also, and let me emphasize this, a _secret_ facility."

He saw her swallow hard. "Yes," she creaked. "Your father. Lionel. He gave me the job."

And the surprises didn't seem to end, "Indeed? How very nice of him. You see, Mrs. Kent, don't you want to let me in so we can have this talk properly?"

She hesitated, then, "Right. I'm sorry, Mr. Luthor." She let him step in and closed the door again behind him. He noticed the electronic lock. He also noticed the dirt on the floor.

"This must be where my two guards were injured," he said thoughtfully, all the while looking at Martha.

She blinked, obviously confused, "Who?"

"Oh, two of my guards. They were chasing the intruders."

Martha's face was still blank. Lex frowned, "I'm sure you've heard about that? The facility was infiltrated last night, Mrs. Kent. And it seems like the intruders took refuge here, in this very house, and attacked my guards as they came looking." He tilted his head, "How come you didn't know?"

She hesitated again, "I don't normally talk to the guards," she said then, very softly.

"What I'm asking myself, Mrs. Kent, is how the intruders got _inside_ the house, seeing as there is this very impressive electronic lock – which, I might add, has not been damaged." He began to pace through the living room area, taking in the plain furniture and simple but tasteful decorations.

Martha lowered her gaze, "It must have been open."

Lex smiled slightly, "Or someone opened it for them."

Martha looked up again, "Are you blaming me?"

Lex shrugged casually, "You just said yourself that someone must have left it open. But you didn't tell me yet if you work here alone?"

She hesitated one second too long, "Yes. I do."

Lex nodded. He noticed he was slowly but surely unnerving her with his pacing, which was just what he'd intended. "You were talking about my father," he said. "It sounded as if he picked you specially for this job?"

Now she answered a little too quickly, "He did. He … he probably thought he'd do me a favor. He knew that … Jonathan and I … were having financial problems at the time."

"At what time?"

"I … a couple of years ago."

Lex smiled at her, "I'm sorry if this sounds like an interrogation, but it does seem a little far-fetched to me that my father would just do you a favor."

Martha visibly straightened her shoulders, "He still felt … very obliged to us back then."

Lex turned to her and raised a brow, "Obliged? To you?"

Her voice grew suddenly harder, colder, "You know why."

Lex snorted. Of course he did. "The whole helping-to-save-my-life-in-the-meteor-shower thing." He would never forget that in his life, not when the repercussions of that day grinned at him every time he looked in a mirror.

Lex rested his hands on the kitchen counter, keeping a thoughtful eye on Martha. "Strange that the earnings of this farm never caught my attention in any business report."

Martha shrugged unconvincingly, "Oh, Lionel looked after the business side of things. That is, until he – … well."

"Yeah. May he rest in peace." Lex let a moment pass in remembrance of his father before he changed his tone of voice, "Martha – I was wondering if you knew anyone by the name of Clark. Or something similar."

He watched her very closely and sure enough, there was that little flicker in her eyes that meant she didn't hear the name for the first time. And yet she said rather firmly, "No."

Lex shifted his weight, "Are you sure? The … patients of the facility report that someone by that name used to look after them."

"I'm not familiar with the employees of your facility, Mr. Luthor," she said steadily. "I keep to this farm."

"Yes." Lex tilted his head. "It seems unusual to me. A Senator's wife … working at a secret and, as some assume, illegal facility for the one man said Senator despises so openly."

She didn't reply to that, but Lex didn't miss the expression crossing her face. He knew he'd found a weak spot of hers that could yet prove useful.

"Anyway," he said, remembering why he was here and that he didn't have all the time in the world, "it seems this _Clark_ wasn't an employee. He seems to be somewhat of a fleeting figure. And what's interesting is that the guards who've been knocked down by the intruders claim that he was _here_. Helping the intruders. Hiding them in this house." He narrowed his eyes, "Which makes me believe he knew the codes for the lock. So I'm asking you again – do you know him?"

She was evidently thinking. _Wrong again, Martha. Ts ts ts._ "I … I did know a Clark once," she finally said. "Years ago. He used to help out on the farm. I … sort of liked him. I'm guessing the … patients just want to pull your leg. They sometimes taunt _me_ … with him."

"Really." He smiled. _Pity, Martha. I know that _you_ have never been inside the facility in your life. The freaks don't know you. How could they taunt you with anyone?_

He knew how to interrogate people. He knew that when people were distressed they committed a lot of mistakes. He knew that oftentimes when people said something they actually meant the opposite.

And he knew now with absolute certainty that Martha Kent knew Clark, the ghost. He still wasn't sure how important this Clark person was or if he really was worth his personal attention, but in any case he'd gotten somewhere, somewhere he could continue to dig as soon as he had time again.

He gifted Martha with another Lex Luthor smile and turned toward the door. "Thank you for the talk, Mrs. Kent. I'm afraid I have to go now. But be sure to give my regards to your husband." He let himself out, but not before noticing the look of immense relief on Martha Kent's face as she realized she'd survived his visit for now.

That look had been the last of her mistakes.

oOo

Five minutes later, seated in his helicopter which was getting ready for take-off, Lex reflected on his conversation with Martha Kent once more. There was something to it, to the whole Clark topic, which he hadn't entirely grasped yet. So, imagine there was a presumably young man living somewhere on this facility – presumably the farm – who didn't have a contract, who wasn't paid, who didn't ever talk to any employees and was only ever seen by the inmates many of whom couldn't exactly be termed _sane_. Add to that that he didn't seem to have a surname either. What you got was a puzzle, a rather intriguing mystery in fact.

And his father had something to do with it.

If Lex knew something for sure it was that Lionel wouldn't have gone to such lengths if there wasn't something else to the issue. Something _big_. Something which was worth all the trouble.

He was reminded of the other matter he'd been mulling over of late. The _alien_ matter. The fact that Lionel had apparently managed to keep that from Lex for so long was still nagging at him like some kind of evil insect deep in his guts. And he _had_ to know what had happened to that second alien. He just _had_ _to_.

Maybe it was his inner tension. Maybe it was the weird feeling he always got when the helicopter swerved upwards in that long, wide curve. But for some reason those two matters, the missing Clarkie and the missing alien, began to mix in his head.

Wouldn't that just be like Lionel?

Sure it would. If … _Clark_ … was an alien – however impossible that seemed, seeing as how he apparently looked no different than anybody else – it only made sense that his father had hidden him away on some reclusive farm. And on Luthorcorp's most isolated facility.

Oh yes. It would be just like his father to hide something so big right under Lex's nose. Just like his good-for-nothing dead father indeed.

Alright, so maybe it was a long shot. But Lex liked long shots, and he just loved the idea of having a real alien at his disposal.

* * *

Oh and just a quick note: I'm going to write review replies at the end of the next chapter. So don't worry if you don't hear from me right away :)


	5. 5: Strength

Hi folks. So yeah, it took me a while, sorry for that :) At least it's a long chapter. I'm not completely satisfied with it but let's see what you think.

See the end of the chapter for review replies.

_5: Strength_

His fascination with the Internet and the unimaginable amount of information it offered was far from abating but after what felt like hours Clark thought he needed a break or he would be utterly overwhelmed by what he'd learned so far. He got up from the computer and walked to the kitchen counter, seeing as how he was beginning to feel hungry again. He hesitated for a while, unsure if Lois would be alright with him just using the contents of her fridge, but remembered she'd mentioned something on that account the night before and therefore proceeded to look. He found some stuff for the microwave and although he'd never used one of those before he managed to work it quickly. While the frozen package was being waved he walked to one of the windows and looked out. The sky had clouded over by now but there were plenty of people in the street, people talking to each other, looking at shops or crossing between the many cars.

The sight was very new to him but he was already getting used to it. It probably had something to do with him not being that anxious anymore about infecting someone. He had no idea if his sickness was really contained or for how long; but somehow he was certain that he wasn't an acute danger to anyone right now, and he just felt way too good and too dynamic to be worrying anyway.

In the back of his head he kept thinking about Martha though. By this time she had to be at the farm only to find it empty. He hadn't dedicated one single thought to her during the process of his escape and subsequent stay here; he'd been much too taken up by all the new impressions and his own recklessness. The idea that she might be searching for him this very moment gave him an odd feeling in the stomach and nagged at his overall joyfulness, and trying to suppress these traces of a bad conscience didn't work the way he wanted. But Martha wanted to be his mother. She had to understand, didn't she?

The microwave pinged and he took his meal out, finding flatware in a drawer and leaning on the counter to fall upon the steaming package. As he took his first bite he suddenly had to cough; it was as if the food had been spiced a hundred times as thoroughly as normal. His tongue got absurdly excited over experiencing all the different shades of taste and he nearly trembled as his brain was suddenly on the brink of overload. Aghast, he pushed the package away to the far end of the counter and strained to swallow the overwhelming taste down his throat; without much success as the food was still very intensely assaulting his nose. And not only the food; he realized he was perceiving a multitude of different smells inside the apartment many of which he couldn't even attribute to things because they were so new.

_This is getting ridiculous_, he thought, angry with his own incapacity to cope with whatever was happening to him. Still slightly frantic his brain kept picturing Lois's smile. He really needed her. Now. He needed to tell her about this and hopefully she'd have a reasonable explanation for him.

After getting a conscious grip on himself he finally managed to ban the onslaught of information from the forefront of his mind. He walked back over to the window and engrossed himself in watching the people, which gradually calmed him down.

He was just wondering how he could begin to tell Lois his unlikely story when all of a sudden he heard her voice. "… But I swear it's true Chloe! You should have seen his face!" she was saying. "It was as if someone had shot him in the heart or something!"

"Your similes are bizarre as always, Lo," another woman's voice answered. "It sounds as if you aren't glad he's recovered?"

"Of course I am!" Lois protested, "he's a source after all!" Clark smiled to himself as he turned around. The women must have entered the apartment without him noticing, although it was odd they should be talking about him in his presence; he'd always thought that was considered rude. To his great astonishment he saw no one there.

Still blinking in confusion he continued to hear them talking, "Anyway it was irresponsible of you, Lo. You don't even know who he is! How can you let him stay at our home just like that?"

"_Our_ home? Is it now? It's not like you've been staying there a lot lately –"

"Oh come on, do you really wanna argue with me?"

"Why not? You know I'm pretty good at it."

Clark grimaced. He was hearing Lois and her friend talk as distinctly as if they were standing right in front of him but evidently they weren't there. Just another issue that didn't make any sense. Or was it likely that they were down there somewhere in the streets and he was still able to hear them?

Yeah. About as likely as being allergic to a rock …

Still he looked out the window and sure enough, if he bent his neck a little he could see two female figures approaching from somewhere to the right; one was dark-haired and the other, much shorter one was blonde. The dark-haired woman had a bag under her arm.

They were still several hundred meters away, but nevertheless he heard their talk very precisely, "… I was hoping you'd help me a little with him, Chlo."

"What do you mean?" the blonde woman's voice asked.

"Oh, you know. To drag him out," Lois replied.

"Well. We'll see about that."

At this point Clark saw the two women enter the house below and, suddenly tempted to smile, he scuttled over to the apartment door, already hearing them tromp up the stairs. Lois had really been gone too long. He reached for the door handle to open up for them and pulled.

The door went right off its hinges, fell over and clattered noisily to the floor.

oOo

If she was honest with herself Lois had been expecting a number of things that could have possibly gone wrong while she'd left him alone. The first on her list was that she'd simply find him gone; it was not like he was in any way obliged to her, right? And he'd made it pretty clear already that he wasn't too eager to let her dig inside his life. On the other hand he seemed a decent enough person – if you disregarded all the weirdness for a moment – and maybe _did_ feel indebted to her after all.

That aside she could have imagined him turning the apartment into chaos, burning the kitchen, breaking her computer or even to catch him rifling through her personal things. Maybe these ideas were irrational. They even excited her in a weird self-destructive way. In any case she'd been more or less prepared for all of these sights but surely not for the one that actually greeted her as she was climbing up the Talon stairs with Chloe.

Clark was standing in the middle of the doorframe, an expression of utter astonishment on his face, his hand still raised and frozen in mid-air. The doorframe didn't have a door anymore – it lay on the floor, pulled cleanly off its hinges. They had heard the mighty clatter.

The two young women stood in front of the silent young man for a long moment, before Chloe suddenly smiled in a slightly harried way and eyed him, "Well, someone must be eager to have you back, Lois!"

Lois was staring at the door, completely baffled, and almost missed Clark's soft mutter, "I – … I was hearing you …"

Chloe was still smiling a little eerily, "Did _you_ take off the door?"

He nodded, staring at his hand and finally letting it drop, "I only wanted to … open it –"

Now Lois shot him a glance, "You wanted to _open_ it? Well, then I hope you know how to _shut_ it again?"

He took a step back from her and frowned slightly. "I am really sorry. I don't know why that happened. It isn't the first weird thing today –"

Lois shrugged, "Yeah, whatever. That doesn't excuse damaging the door." She wasn't entirely sure why she was so angry with him. This wasn't near as bad as would have been the case had he really burned the kitchen or destroyed her computer. Probably it was the expression on his face that was freaking her out. He looked as if he was scared. Of what he had done. How _had_ he done it anyway? Pulling a massive wooden door off its hinges like that required some force, didn't it?

"He said he was sorry, Lo," Chloe placated, stepping deliberately around the door and then up to Clark, her petite figure being towered over by his lean tallness, "Hi, by the way. I'm Chloe."

Clark looked at her outstretched hand warily, making no attempt to take it. Chloe, who was probably used to such reactions, wasn't fazed and smiled at him, then let her gaze wander to Lois, her smile growing into a grin, "Okay, I can see why you let him stay."

Lois snorted, "It's not _that_, Chloe." She stomped into the main room and put her bag on the kitchen counter, taking note of the abandoned package of food at its far end. "Is that yours?" she asked her guest. He only nodded.

"Right, let me guess – you burned it?"

"Yes," he replied unconvincingly. His eyes were restless and cloudy like the sky outside.

Lois poured herself a glass of water from the tap. Drinking it, she motioned with her hand, "What are you waiting for? I don't think that door will go back in its frame by itself."

Her impatient tone of voice finally had an effect on him and he moved over to the door frame to eye the hinges closely. He looked at Lois nervously, "I'm sorry. I … I think the hinges were bent a little by … umm." He trailed off, lowering his gaze as if he was hoping someone would supply an explanation for him.

"Bent?" Chloe walked up to him, taking a look at the hinges in question herself. Slowly, both her eyebrows wandered to the top of her forehead. "Look at that. These bolts are made of steel. And they are bent. More than _a little_."

Intrigued by the startled expression on Chloe's face, Lois decided to take a closer look herself. To her surprise the bolts on which the door was normally fastened were in fact bent forward enough that a hammer was definitely needed to straighten them out again. Or even better a sledgehammer.

She looked cautiously back at her dark-haired guest. He didn't return her gaze. Actually she noticed he was blushing. And it looked _cute_.

_Oh come on, where did that thought come from Lane?_

She cleared her throat. "Okay. How did you do that?"

He was probably about to start writhing under her eyes. "I don't know. I was … thinking about you –"

"Thinking about me," she repeated. _Oh please_. "And thinking about me makes you go all violent? Most girls don't find that very attractive, you know."

He slowly raised his head and she could tell she'd confused him. _And here was hoping he'd be a little more conversational now that he's well again._

"You know what? I think I can get you a couple tools from somewhere and you can start repairing the mess, alright?"

oOo

While Clark set about putting the door back where it belonged – and he was pretty skillful at doing that, Lois had to admit – she retreated to the bedroom, accompanied by the excited Chloe.

"Man, Lo," her blonde cousin was saying, "where did you _find_ that guy?"

"I told you," Lois snorted, sitting down on the mattress, feeling exhausted. "What I don't really get, though, is – … he was _looking after_ the meteor-infected in that facility. It just doesn't make sense that he should be one of them."

"What if the Luthors don't know he is?" Chloe put in. "From what you've told me it almost seemed as if he didn't know it himself, right?"

"Or he pretended he didn't know." Lois put her head into her hands. "I just took him with me so he could tell me about the facility. I never expected all this to become so complicated!"

Chloe patted her shoulder. "Try to look at it from this angle. He seems friendly enough as a person. And at least he's – … nice to look at."

Lois smiled weakly, "Yeah, he is." That was just the point that kept bothering her. When she was in the same room as him she just couldn't seem to leave him alone. Something kept drawing her attention to him. It was probably his unusual blue-green eyes.

It should be illegal for a man to have eyes like that.

Chloe had brought Lois's bag and opened it to get a small pack of folded clothes out. Looking at them with a creased forehead she smiled wryly, "Well Lois, you didn't mention he's so tall. I hope we have the right size?"

Lois shrugged, unimpressed, "I think he might be an inch taller than Oliver, so the size should fit him well enough." She leant back on the bed, gazing over at the window. The sun was completely hidden by clouds by now. It probably was about to start raining.

Chloe kept on muttering as she was taking a closer look at the clothes, "You didn't mention the muscles either …"

Lois grimaced and sat up again, "_Chloe_! You're making this sound like an auction!"

Chloe started snickering, "Do you realize you're blushing, Lo?"

"I'm not!" Lois retorted.

But Chloe was grinning broadly, "Look in a mirror, cuz. You are."

Annoyed, Lois got on her feet to walk back into the main room where the hammer blows had stopped by now. "Whatever," she told Chloe on the way, "he's still a source and we've been putting off this interview way too long already."

Clark was leaning on the kitchen counter as she entered the room, tools already neatly put back in the tool box. The apartment door was back in its frame and closed.

He'd not only finished the repairs, though; he'd apparently also gotten some self-confidence back online, if his relatively open gaze in her direction was anything to judge by.

"Hi," Lois said trying for a bright smile, "I was wondering if you're ready for our little interview?"

He looked hesitant for a mere second, then nodded, "Okay."

"Great!" Lois picked up her notepad excitedly and motioned for him to sit down at the table.

"Alright, so I'm going to make this easy for you. I'm simply going to ask some questions and you're going to give the best answers you can. Is that okay for you?"

He was looking at the notepad with a slight frown, "Are you going to use my name?"

"No, of course not!" Lois smiled reassuringly at him. "You're going to be an 'anonymous inside source'."

"Why do you want me to talk about … this?" he suddenly asked, baffling her with the question. She was compelled to think for a moment.

"Because … because people want to be informed about the doings of the Luthors," she finally said.

"Why?"

Lois felt irritation building up, "Because it's high time that Luthorcorp caves in! There have been hundreds of articles about the illegal procedures in those facilities and still they manage to save their necks every time! It's outrageous!" She took a deep breath; she wasn't sure if she had ever used that word before.

He'd been listening closely but a growing incomprehension was evident on his face. "What … procedures?" he asked, shattering Lois's hopes, beliefs and patience all in one go.

"What do you mean?" she all but yelled, remembering to check her voice in the last moment. "That's what I was going to ask you about! Don't tell me you _don't_ _know_?"

_Oh please. This can't be._

He had lowered himself onto a chair and now leant back in it, a mixture of confusion and defiance on his face, "I … I only brought them food."

Lois snorted in disbelief, "You have to know _something_! You surely have talked with _somebody_!" She stared at his face for any trace of a positive answer but was disappointed.

"I – I'm sorry –"

"For God's sake!" She leant forward right into his face and knew that her eyes were flashing impressively, "You lived right next to the facility! You were a guard! You have to know what's been going on in there!" Her eyes bored into his, "You can tell me. You have to _tell_ me!" Her voice was getting ever louder, and he slowly shrank back from her.

"It was …" He was looking down at the table and his voice was so low she had to strain her ears to hear him, "I didn't really want to know."

Lois stared down at his shock of dark hair from her standing position and felt true anger slowly bubbling to the surface, "_No_."

Clark cautiously looked up at her, "What?"

"_No_!" Lois almost shouted. She stepped away from the table and clenched her hands, "I mean, no! That can't be true! You're my source!" She turned back to him in despair, "I thought you were gonna tell me! Why didn't you mention that you weren't any _good_?"

A part of her noticed that she'd probably insulted him with her words, but she paid that no heed in this moment of pure journalistic frustration.

To her slight surprise he even answered, "You never asked."

Suddenly, Chloe stood there, a stern expression on her face. "What's with the yelling?" she demanded of Lois.

"Turns out he isn't any good as a source!" Lois blurted out. Her cousin, of course, regarded her rather critically.

"Oh, Lois. Shouldn't you have ascertained that beforehand?"

Being rebuked was the last thing Lois needed right now. Although a very small part of her began to feel slightly ridiculous as well as embarrassed for her own rushed actions, the larger part was fuming. Because she couldn't believe she'd gone through this adventure without any valuable outcomes whatsoever. And even more because she'd let herself be deceived by his beautiful face and innocent eyes and taken him with her without even making sure who he was before.

It had to be the way he always looked at her. So completely awed. Like she was his savior or something.

Really. _Clark_. His name practically seemed to spell out-of-character-behavior on her part.

Shaking her head in annoyance she turned her back on both of them and slowly made for the bathroom. "Give me a minute to think."

This time she distinctly felt her face blush a deep red as she heard Chloe's amused chuckle behind her.

oOo

Lois's handsome guest remained sitting at the table in a devastated sort of way and Chloe's instincts kicked right in. She slid into the chair opposite him. "You haven't been yelled at that often, have you?"

He cleared his throat and shrugged, "I think she's … disappointed in me. A lot."

Chloe smiled broadly at him, "I wouldn't take her so seriously if I were you. Believe me; she's mostly angry with herself. Not with you."

He didn't return the smile, "But she's been so good to me. I want to … repay her."

Chloe looked at him encouragingly, "It's not like everything's lost. Just let her calm down a bit and then we can see how we can go on."

He frowned doubtfully, but before he could reply Lois reemerged from the bathroom and walked right up to Clark, obviously excited once more, "_Lionel_."

"Lionel?" he asked, dumbfounded.

She nodded eagerly, "Lionel. You said you knew him personally, didn't you?"

Chloe could see that Lois was in full-reporter mode again. While that wasn't necessarily a bad thing she wasn't sure if Clark could handle it at the moment. "Lois –"

"Did you or didn't you?" Lois asked, ignoring Chloe.

To Chloe, Clark looked like a cornered little boy for a fraction of a second before his gaze grew guarded again, "Yeah."

"Great." Lois grabbed her notepad again and sat down. "See, people want to know about the real Lionel now that he's been gone a couple years. I mean we know of course that half of the projects he was involved with weren't entirely legal. He worked with governments and secret organizations and the military. His death hasn't been resolved to this day. So there's plenty of stuff yet to tell."

She watched him carefully, waiting for him to start talking; when he didn't she raised an eyebrow, "_Stuff to tell_ being the point."

Clark looked at his large hands, "He didn't talk to me about that … _stuff_."

Silence. Lois gaped at him. "You're lying," she finally said.

Chloe turned to Lois and put just the slightest hint of pleading into her voice, "I don't think he is, Lo."

"I'm sorry," Clark said quietly. "I really wish I could help you."

"I bet you do," Lois muttered, got up from her chair and strode over towards her bedroom; she looked as if she'd stepped into a slug with naked feet and Chloe saw that Clark didn't miss it.

"Really, don't mind her," she told him when Lois was out of earshot. "She'll calm down. She isn't like that all the time." She smiled and reached out with her hand to easily clap his shoulder, but he shied away from the touch.

"I – I'm sorry," he said hastily when he saw he'd confused her with his reaction.

"Yeah – you say that a lot." Chloe tilted her head. "Lois told me a little about you. You haven't met new people that often, right? Don't worry, you're keeping up fine."

His eyes were fixed on her. "Why do you say that?" he asked with honest curiosity.

Chloe was confronted with a decision concerning her handling of that question. She could try to answer it with humor. Or with the truth. Now, in her line of work as a psychologist she'd learned a long time ago that humor could have devastating results when used wrongly even if it seemed to be an easy solution.

The truth, then.

She inhaled deeply and smiled again. "Because you are actually doing this better than many people of your kind and believe me, I know what I'm saying. I have years of experience."

His face had darkened visibly at her words and Chloe almost shivered. God, did he _know_ the effect his gaze could have on people?

"People of my kind," he repeated rather gruffly. "You think I'm meteor-infected."

Chloe felt compelled to placate him, "Now, the politically correct term is _meteor-challenged_," she said, gesticulating. "We don't consider it an illness after all."

"I'm not meteor-infected." He sounded firm. He suddenly got to his feet and towered over the surprised Chloe. "At least I … I never was before –"

"Actually it's really interesting," Chloe said, blinking up at him. He even looked impressive from below. "What's happening to you. Oh, I'm so sorry." She wiped a hand across her hot face, "I'm being carried away. I'm probably sounding like some mad scientist already." She swallowed, "You know what? Let's stop talking about this and plan the day instead. You have something in mind?"

She knew that Jimmy was waiting for her to call, and that she really should be working on patient files and bills and that science magazine publication that was due in three days, but she also knew that she couldn't leave this lost young man just yet.

oOo

"Wow. You look good. Lois!" Chloe called while her eyes never left Clark, who stood there in the clothes he'd just put on. They were somewhat formal and if truth be told his heavy black boots didn't match but the combination wasn't actually bad. Rather the contrary.

"What?" Lois asked, poking her head out of her bedroom. Her eyes found Clark immediately and gave him an once-over; an appreciative one. "Good," she said, "remind me to give Oliver my thanks when I see him the next time."

Clark was fumbling with the buttons of the dark-blue shirt and Chloe couldn't help noticing that he obviously felt ill-at-ease in the strange clothes.

"You know how people say 'Clothes make the man'?" she asked, catching his attention. "They really don't. Your look doesn't change who you are. Don't worry. Believe the psychologist."

Lois had started rifling through her work papers and bag. She looked over at them when she heard Chloe's words. "Except when it comes to superheroes maybe," she said casually. "Considering that many of them seem to have double identities." That said she grabbed her bag and returned to her bedroom, ponytail swinging.

"Trust my cousin to spoil a perfectly fine scientific thesis," Chloe said to Clark, smiling. "Anyway, about the planning the day thing …" She watched him expectantly and he responded with a tentative smile, "If you really want to … help me –"

"I do," Chloe put in.

"Um. Yeah. I'd really like to visit the Kent farm."

"The Kent farm." Chloe frowned. "Like, Jonathan and Martha Kent?"

"Yes." He obviously didn't want to elaborate on his reasons.

Chloe didn't really mind. "Alright with me. I'll take you."

She was gifted with an honest smile that made her feel warm. "Thanks," he muttered.

Lois emerged from her room this moment, her bag under one arm, her laptop under the other, and proceeded to slip on her shoes. "Where are you going?" Chloe asked.

"Where do you think I'm going? To the _Planet_," Lois answered as if that was utterly obvious.

"It's Saturday," Chloe said.

"And?" Lois looked at her with a distracted frown. "I have a reputation to keep and a corner office to win, Chlo."

"But …" Chloe glanced at Clark, "I thought you didn't have enough material?"

"I'm going to have to _come up_ with some material," Lois muttered, picking up her car keys. "My editor will never forgive me if I don't hand in the article I promised him."

"Er … okay." Chloe smiled. That was the legendary Lois Lane alright and she seemed to be really edgy this time. "Just so you know, Clark and I are going to visit a farm."

"You do that." Without glancing back Lois left the apartment, her heels clanking down the stairs outside the door. Chloe noticed Clark staring after her; his face looked almost crestfallen.

"Don't worry," she told him. "That wasn't a goodbye for good. Look." She pointed at a window. "The sun has come out again after all. I bet it'll be a nice afternoon."

He'd followed her gaze but his eyes were still doubtful. "Lois is really … dedicated to her job, isn't she?" he asked quietly.

Chloe grinned. "Yeah, she is. But really, don't worry. I know my cousin and believe me; she won't forget about you that easily."

oOo

Only when they were driving along a narrow country road among fields and green meadows did he realize that he'd been missing being out under the sky already. While there were still lots of clouds sailing overhead the sun was poking through them in many places and he'd paused for a moment to bathe his face in it before he'd climbed into Chloe's car. He still had absolutely no idea why it made him feel so good inside. It still made no sense.

What made sense, however, was that he was feeling increasingly anxious the closer they drew to their destination.

Chloe was steering the vehicle confidently and looked over at him every once in a while. "So how come you know the Kents?" she asked after a couple of minutes.

He shrugged. "I … I don't know Mr. … I mean, Jonathan, yet. I - … I'm acquainted with Martha." He looked at her and decided to turn the tables before she could proceed to interrogate him, "How come _you_ know them?"

Chloe brushed a few strands of blonde hair off her forehead and smiled broadly. "I don't really. You know, when Mr. Kent campaigned for the Senate he had that point on his agenda about how people needed to look at the meteor-challenged with different eyes and how society had to change and so on. I was only in college then but these subjects interested me and I asked him for an interview for a paper I had to write. I hadn't really expected it, of course, but he actually invited me to his farm. We sat on his sofa and his wife served some wonderful cake and we talked. It was a really nice evening."

"Yeah, she would only have been there in the evenings," Clark muttered. He noticed Chloe glancing at him, frowning. "Huh?" she asked.

"Nothing," he replied quickly. He wondered how much Lois had actually told her about him, and he was starting to perceive a completely new feeling of embarrassment when it came to his origins.

"Here we are. Look." Chloe gestured above the steering wheel. They'd turned into a wide alley between a number of farm buildings of different sizes, the most outstanding of which was a large barn painted a striking red.

Chloe turned the engine off and waved for him to get out. She followed closely as Clark made a few tentative steps in the general direction of the yellow farm house. Plenty of well-known smells were assailing his senses – animals and what they left behind, hay, flowers, motor oil. The smells still seemed more intense to him than he was used to but fortunately they also dispersed more here in the outdoors. And more importantly, they actually served to calm him down. It was good to be confronted with something familiar for a change. The sight of the working farm almost made him smile.

"Was that a smile?" Chloe asked; Clark sighed. He'd already noticed that Chloe was one very attentive woman.

"Do you think there's someone home?" he asked, skipping an answer.

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm hearing someone in there," Chloe said, nodding towards the door of the barn which was opened a crack. Clark listened for the noises she'd mentioned and a fraction of a second later wished he hadn't.

He flinched violently when he suddenly heard heavy breathing right next to him and a clank of metal so loud as though the clattering object weighted half a ton. There was an almost deafening rattle, too, and a strange kind of yapping which rapidly came closer.

Only a very small part of him noted Chloe's concerned voice. "Hey, are you alright?"

_I have to switch this off somehow_, he thought frantically. But before he could muster his self-control and start doing that he was assaulted by something large and furry which jumped right into his chest and toppled him over.

The moment he landed in the mud the turmoil in his ears abruptly stopped. He didn't have time to be relieved though since now he was attacked by the very wet tongue of a large golden-brown dog. It licked all over his face with the kind of merciless enthusiasm that could probably be expected from a long-haired golden retriever.

"_Shelby_!" a man's voice cut through the air; Clark hardly noticed it as he was very occupied with keeping the over-friendly dog off himself. Chloe's smirking face hovered somewhere above him and now was joined by a gray-haired man who reached for the dog's collar without hesitating. "Shelby, that's impossible of you."

The golden retriever finally let go and trotted off, leaving Clark lying on his back in the mud, panting.

"I'm sorry," the man said and offered Clark a hand, "he's normally not that – _pushy_." He helped Clark up and was evidently polite enough not to comment on the state of his clothes.

Clark felt some sort of reply was asked for, and swallowed nervously, "It's alright really –"

"No, no." The man, who wore a plaid shirt and a simple pair of jeans, shook his head. "I know what you're trying to do. That's the kind of subservience you think is needed if you're dealing with a former senator. This former senator is now a simple farmer though, and us people value honesty and hospitality."

Clark stared at him, unsure what to say to that; luckily, Chloe saved him from the uncomfortable silence that threatened to develop. "Mr. Kent, I don't know if you still remember me –"

The older man's gaze swiveled to her. "Miss Sullivan. How could I forget the student who asked me the most intelligent questions I ever heard?"

She smiled, visibly warmed by his words, "Thank you."

Jonathan Kent's bright eyes wandered back over to Clark, and slowly a deep crease appeared on his forehead. "Wait a minute …" he muttered. He turned around fully to face him and Clark felt himself being scrutinized. That man's gaze was remarkable; it seemed to pierce right through to Clark's innermost being and find more in there than he'd ever allowed anyone else to see.

Not that there had been many people to try.

"You're _Clark_," Jonathan finally said.

Clark didn't feel capable of speaking right now.

"You are him," Jonathan said, sounding genuinely astonished, "aren't you?" His face was brightening up and Clark almost thought the older man was going to start grinning at him. What was going on?

"Yeah, he's Clark," Chloe said when Clark failed to answer. "How do you know? I thought you two have never met?"

"We haven't," Jonathan said absentmindedly, "but Martha – my wife – she's talking about him all the time."

For all of three minutes, they stood there in silence, bird voices and distant cow mooing the only noises to be heard. Clark slowly realized that this was the moment he'd been waiting for. Here was the man he admired so much without ever having met him before. Here was his chance.

Here was also his very first attempt at a formal greeting. "It's an honor," he managed to get out and hesitantly held out his hand. To his unending relief Jonathan took it and smiled. "I'm really glad to finally get to know you, Clark."

However when Clark slightly pressed the hand as expected, Jonathan suddenly grimaced. "You've got some strength in there, lad, don't you," he said softly and Clark, absurdly terrified, withdrew his hand straight away. "S-sorry," he murmured.

"Ah, it's fine. Nothing broken." Despite his words, Jonathan looked at his hand carefully and wiggled his fingers a little. Clark already felt a blush creep up his neck.

Chloe, perceptive as always, started to back away. "You know, I'm going to leave you two alone for a while so you can catch up. I have a boyfriend who's getting impatient anyway. Clark, you think it's alright if I come and pick you up around six?"

"Yeah," Clark muttered. He only barely registered Chloe walking back to the car and leaving.

Jonathan was still holding his right hand but that didn't stop him from smiling broadly at Clark, "You know, lad, I think it'd be best if we sat down, do some talking … but first – and I hope you don't mind – I'll have to get back in there and finish what I was doing or else the glue is going to dry. Want to come?"

Clark followed the older man through the door of the barn. The interior of the large wooden building was dimly lit. There were stalls for horses, now empty, on one side and workbenches on the other; in addition, a hayloft was installed beneath the roof. In the middle of the floor stood an ancient tractor which was missing two wheels, an assortment of tools scattered next to it.

"This is actually my father's very first tractor," Jonathan explained, indicating the worn-down vehicle almost affectionately. "I find it helps to calm my nerves when I tinker with it every once in a while. Even though I don't believe it'll ever really work again." There was an odd tinge to his voice. Clark couldn't be sure but he had the very faint impression that the former senator maybe was a bit nervous himself.

Clark was at a loss as to an answer once again and simply nodded. Jonathan suddenly turned around and faced him. Although Clark was a little taller he felt intimidated by the older man's open gaze. "Alright, Clark. Tell me – what the hell are you _doing_ here? I always thought you never left that … place?"

Clark blinked. "I – never did … before," he muttered hastily.

Jonathan frowned. "Is this something to do with my wife? With Martha?"

Clark stared. Jonathan's eyes bored into his.

"No," Clark said at last, voice slightly wavering, "I decided all on my own."

Jonathan looked away then. "Don't get me wrong, Clark. Honestly, I'm glad I'm finally meeting you. I mean, I've practically known you for twenty years – known you from what Martha's always telling me about you. It's a good thing to see you face to face."

Clark cleared his throat. "It's good to see you too – sir."

Jonathan waved that off, "Oh please, I left the _sir_ behind when I said goodbye to Washington." He picked up a wrench and a tube of glue, then walked around the tractor and kneeled down on its opposite side.

Clark watched him for a moment. Languid thought s crept through his head, of the kind that made him feel utterly bewildered. This was all crazy, wasn't it? What was he even doing here? And Jonathan, he was acting so strange, really as if he'd known Clark for a long time. And still, Martha didn't seem to have told him everything because the older man hadn't even mentioned Clark's sickness yet.

"Could you maybe give me a hand here, boy?" Jonathan asked, shaking Clark out of his slow contemplation. Jonathan was gesturing with an oil-stained hand. "The car-jack isn't working – again," he explained, shrugging. "So I'll have to make do without it. Can you come over here?"

Clark hesitantly squatted down next to Jonathan and put his hands where he was told. Jonathan squinted below the tractor and tried to reach underneath it as far as his arm would go, which apparently wasn't far enough.

"Damn." Jonathan leant back and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving stripes of oil there. "This isn't working. Well, thanks anyway. I'll wait until Monday and buy a new car-jack." He rose and proceeded to put his tools back where they belonged.

Clark, leaning on the offensive vehicle, watched him bustle about. So he hadn't been able to help Jonathan but somehow it had been a good moment anyway. He felt tempted to smile. Having people there to share his moments with – people other than Martha of course – was a new experience for him, but he realized he liked it. A lot. It felt so natural.

"Hey – what are you doing?" Jonathan's voice asked from somewhere and Clark flinched. Something creaked. Clark noticed with shock that while he hadn't been paying attention he'd leant forward more and more and had somehow managed to push the old tractor partly off the barn's wooden floor with his weight so that it now stood on only one side, the other one raised by a couple of inches.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. He carefully brought his hands down onto the metallic frame of the tractor; if he just dropped it there would probably be a significant chance for something to break.

"Yeah," Jonathan said thoughtfully, "how are you doing that? That thing's pretty heavy." He came one or two steps closer, "Seems we don't need a car-jack after all."

Clark finally succeeded in really taking hold of the old vehicle and began to slowly lower it back down. He paused when he heard Jonathan gasp.

"Wha –" he started to ask but the expression in Jonathan's eyes silenced him.

"You're really stronger than you look, aren't you?" the older man said unsteadily.

After half a second of careful thinking Clark realized what Jonathan was so worked up about and all of a sudden his own heart started to race as well. In his effort to prevent any damage he'd somehow hoisted the whole vehicle in his hands. He didn't even really feel the weight – in fact it seemed no heavier than holding a bowl of food – but there was no denying that the tractor was no longer touching the ground.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so I know that heightened senses of taste and smell aren't featured on the list of his abilities but I personally think that it would be only logical for him to have them and I've read allusions to this in a number of other fanfictions too. You can also ascribe it to my poetic license if you want – I figured it would make for some comic relief.

I hope you liked Clark and Shelby's first encounter. And sorry for the tractor scene – I just _had_ to do it :)

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I'm including review replies here because 1) in this way I have a better overview over who I have replied to and what I have written and 2) in this way I can also reply to the people who didn't log in.

Clarkfan325: Well I really hope I can keep up with getting more interesting :) There will be more information about Clark's humble beginnings in the next two chapters. Thanks for reading.

cloismycel: Ah! You did it again :D I'm sorry it took so long; I'm having some hard times in RL and sometimes just can't sit down and focus on writing this story. But believe me, I have every intention of continuing and finishing it. And yes, you are influencing me as are all of my readers ;) As for your thoughts – yes, there is a reason Lois has that piece of kryptonite. Umm, you're right, Clark still hasn't peed – poor him. And thanks for mentioning the descriptions, I find them pretty important although I, like so many, tend to spend more time on dialogue … Oh and you're right about the internet. Actually I only got internet at home (again) a couple of weeks ago and had to make do without it for months and months before. Oh the relief.

H-g-j-l-e-r-k: Thank you a lot for your continuous support :)

LoisNClark4Ever: A world of possibilities, indeed ;) Martha does have a reason to keep Clark isolated and this actually ties in with how Clark will piece his life's puzzle together, as you put it very poetically. I can tell you that Lex will return in the next but one chapter and you know him, he won't give up so easily ;) Anyway thank you very much for your ongoing feedback.

NonOmnisMoriar: Your reviews are always a great read. Thank you! Oh and especially thanks for finding my Lex creepy ;) I wasn't all that sure if I got him right.

Reeven: Thank you, and you will get Lois and Clark moments. I hope Clark and Jonathan's meeting in this chapter was alright ;)

SuperheroLover22: Thank you, and I will continue the story of course although I unfortunately can't guarantee quick updates (but I'm always trying).

The Commentor: Well I'm glad I could help to make you feel better. But first: Why did you write your review in such a strange format? It looks like you're yelling at me/us. I don't know if you intended it this way but I would ask you to stick to normal format if you decide to review again please? Aside from that, thanks for the praise and for the suggestions. As you may have noticed in chapter 3 one of the pairings in my story is Chimmy; and when it comes to Oliver I'm not sure if I'm going to include any romantic interest for him at all. This story will focus on Clois. Also I have to admit that I haven't read any of the comics. I'm sure I'm missing a lot and please don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't like or don't respect comics (in fact I own quite a few). But as you mentioned maybe it's helping me to look at the material with a fresh eye and imo it's the whole point of fanfiction to expand on the material that's given you in your own personal way so we can realize how great these characters truly are and why we love them so much :) Oh and as for Doomsday – sorry, but I won't include this. I already have the main story arc for my fic and I think it's enough. But I'm really happy that my readers have their own thoughts :) Please don't think it's not appreciated. If you're looking for comic-cannon developments however I'm afraid you'll have to turn to other stories and if this means that I'm losing you as a reader then I guess it can't be helped.

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And please, grant me some time for the next update – the next two chapters will be tough ones :)


	6. 6: The river

Thank you so much for all the reviews and faves – you don't know how much they mean to me. My life really isn't so great at the moment but knowing that people like my stuff makes it better :)

I didn't edit this chapter as thoroughly as the previous ones but there was such a delay already and I really wanted to _finally_ get it posted. Enjoy.

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_6: The river_

The afternoon sunlight that filtered through the windows gave all the surfaces in the room a warm golden hue. The furnishings were simple enough and not so different from what Clark was used to, but there was one major distinction to his own farmhouse. The living room he currently was in looked personalized, for lack of a better word. There were pieces of handicraft, and calendars, and letters and postcards on a pin board, and memorabilia, mostly in the form of framed photographs. Clark had been tempted to look at all of them but Jonathan had gestured for him to sit down on the couch right after they'd entered.

Jonathan was obviously still rather shaken by what he'd just witnessed but he was making an admirable attempt at concealing it. As he sat in a comfy armchair his eyes kept wandering to Clark's hands and Clark soon started wondering if he maybe should sit on them; if hopefully that would make the situation less strained.

It seemed to take hours until Jonathan finally cleared his throat. "So," he slowly said, "I don't seem to recall Martha mentioning anything about you having … special abilities?"

Clark forced a weak smile, "That's because I didn't have any … until today."

Jonathan raised his eyebrows, "Well, I'm no expert but I'm pretty sure that both metahuman and meteor abilities usually develop over a period of time. I've never heard of them just … popping up."

Clark shrugged. There was really nothing he could say. It wasn't like he'd ever talked to the facility inmates about how they'd gotten their powers.

"Hey, boy. Clark." Jonathan leant forward. "Please don't think I'm condemning you for being like this. I'm not."

Clark tried to smile, "I didn't think you were, si – … Mr. Kent."

"Jonathan," Jonathan said. "Forgive me if I'm sounding a little … preoccupied. It's just that … you've always been a member of this family. Sort of. I mean, for Martha you're probably as close a person as I am. And me, I've always wanted to get to know you and … and now that you're here, I don't really know what to do. What to say."

Clark almost said _I'm sorry_ but thought better of it. Here was this man, a former senator and an idol for so many people, confessing to him that he wasn't sure how to deal with the situation. Jonathan's sincerity felt like a big prize Clark had won without doing anything much for it, and it left him temporarily speechless.

Jonathan's clear eyes were watching him intently. After a moment, he lowered his gaze and shrugged, "I guess I always assumed you wouldn't turn out quite as fine as you apparently did. Without a father being there for you."

Clark briefly thought of Lionel before Jonathan's words registered with him. The man had only known him for a quarter of an hour and already thought he was _fine_? And with what had happened. "That's probably Martha's work," he stuttered, unused to praise as he was.

Jonathan smiled broadly, "Yeah, she is one great woman," he acknowledged. "Sometimes I still can't believe I deserve her. Did you know she was a city girl, attending law school, and I snatched her away to live on a farm?"

"No," Clark replied, but before he could go on there were hasty footsteps approaching the house and suddenly the front door opened.

Martha stood there, out of breath and panting, eyes weirdly reddened. "Jonathan –" she began; then her eyes focused in on Clark who had no idea how to react to her entrance.

"Clark?" she asked in a creaky voice. She staggered forward; she seemed to have lost all of her usual composure. "_Clark_?"

He stood up from the couch and turned around to her, clutching for words; confronted with her obvious emotional distress his bad conscience was almost physically painful all of a sudden.

"Oh my god." Martha reached him and hugged him tighter than ever before. "I thought they'd taken you away," she sobbed, "I thought I'd never see you again …"

He held her very awkwardly. His feelings of guilt grew vastly as he witnessed this extremely uncharacteristic behavior he'd caused. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She didn't listen; still clutching him she looked up at his face, "What are you _doing_ here? What happened? I looked everywhere for you. What _happened_?"

Clark was suddenly very embarrassed and felt his face turn red. "I … I ran away," he confessed, not daring to meet her gaze.

"You _ran away_?" she repeated incredulously. Her eyes were slowly drying but her hands were still trembling. "_No_," she said. "No, you couldn't. What happened?"

Jonathan shuffled forward when Clark didn't answer. "He came here with Miss Sullivan," he supplied helpfully.

Martha frowned. "The girl who writes about meteor-infected?"

Her left hand was clutching Clark's wrist, as if she wanted to make sure he didn't steal away. "How do you know her?" she asked him. It sounded neutral, but an undertone of deep worry was still there.

"I don't", Clark said hastily. "Only since today. Her cousin Lois, she's a reporter, she was at the facility yesterday night and we … we met and she asked me to … to come with her," he blurted out, his face flushed with embarrassment and guilt and anxiety.

"And you did," Martha said quietly. It didn't sound disappointed, not really. It sounded sad. "Oh, sweetheart," she sighed, "I've known you all these years and I had no idea that you were looking for an opportunity to get away from there."

"I wasn't!" he protested. "I didn't think about it. I just … I just ran. It was a stupid decision, I know." He couldn't bring himself to smile, however hard he tried. He felt like the most ungrateful person on earth. Really, running away from the only home he'd ever had, abandoning the only human being who'd ever cared for him. What a childish, irresponsible and stupid thing he'd done.

"So now you know how that feels," Martha said. "Making stupid decisions. Happens to all of us – so maybe it's just an experience you had to make." She finally let go of his wrist and sank down on the armrest of the couch, wiping her hand over her face. "So what do we do now?"

Bird song and the ticking of the wall clock filled the ensuing silence. Clark looked at his feet. After a while, Martha tugged on his sleeve, "You look good in that, by the way, sweetheart."

Now he had to smile. She was obviously trying to take some weight off the situation. He swallowed, "I - … Martha, I just don't know … should I go back?"

"_No_!" she replied in an alarmed tone of voice. "No, you can't." She got up and pulled him into a hug once more, "You can't go back, Clark. Never."

He held her thin frame carefully, looking down at her graying hair, "W-why?" He glanced over at Jonathan, "They don't know me. They won't even know I was gone." For some reason and even despite his fierce resolve to get to know the real world, the idea of never returning made him panic. It was the weirdest of feelings really; one part of him wanted to run out and never look back while the other part wanted to hide away in his small corner of the world where he'd lived for the past twenty years and forget he'd ever come here.

Who would have known that running away turned out so complicated? It always seemed the easiest part of the adventure in the classic novels he'd read when he was younger.

"You could stay here," Martha said in an overly light-hearted tone of voice that didn't really cover up the hysterical tinge underneath, "we can help you. That's why you came here, right?" She squinted up at him. "You want Jonathan and me to help you?"

"Umm …" Clark gratefully seized the opportunity when Shelby scuttled in and brushed his legs; he stepped away from Martha and crouched down to stroke the soft golden fur. He was feeling slightly overwhelmed. He hadn't thought this far. Stupid, irresponsible him. Lionel would have been so angry.

He noticed Martha was looking at him contemplatively. When she spoke again, it was hardly more than a whisper, "How are you feeling, honey?"

"Fine," Clark answered without looking up from stroking Shelby, who was accepting the caress with quiet satisfaction. "What do you mean?"

Martha sighed behind him. "You know what I mean. You didn't take your medication."

Clark hesitated. Damn it. He'd all but forgotten about that. It was true – he hadn't taken the stuff in the last twenty-four hours. "Is that … very bad?" he asked warily.

Before Martha could reply Jonathan's voice chimed in, "Is that medication against his meteor infection, Martha?"

Clark suppressed a sigh. He'd been silently hoping Jonathan wouldn't bring up that particular matter. He wasn't ready to deal with it. Not yet. Not by far.

The question Jonathan had posed was a very intriguing one, though.

"No," Martha said, her confusion evident, "Clark isn't meteor-infected."

Clark risked a glance over his shoulder. Jonathan was smiling a little weirdly at his wife, "Isn't he? That's interesting. Because he's the first young man I've met who was able to lift up my tractor with his bare hands."

Martha spun around to Clark, "You did _what_?"

Clark didn't want to answer. He didn't even want to look at her. He wanted to forget the tractor thing had ever happened.

Jonathan not so much, obviously. "Show her, Clark. Will you?"

Clark briefly contemplated just to run out of the house and hide somewhere, but he had a vague notion that would only make things even more complicated. So what if Jonathan was excited about this? He couldn't really blame him for it.

"I –" He looked around himself. Jonathan pointed at the couch eagerly, "What about that?"

Clark nodded and put one hand on an armrest, the other on the edge of the solid couch. He tried to consciously remember how he'd hoisted the tractor. He was pretty sure he could damage the couch if he wasn't careful. Then, he hardly noticed he'd already lifted it up as it didn't feel like anything. He was so flabbergasted he almost dropped it. Really, this wasn't possible, was it? He should feel the weight in his muscles somehow, shouldn't he?

He didn't. No more than he would have felt a piece of paper. On instinct, he let his left hand go and held the couch only with his right hand, two feet off the ground.

Bird song and the ticking of the wall clock again. Clark's heart pounded hard against his chest. He slowly looked at Martha, waiting for her to freak.

But she didn't react the way he'd been expecting; not really. She was staring at him alright, but the expression on her face wasn't disbelief. It wasn't even surprise. It was a regret of sorts; shattered hope. "Oh _no_," she said.

oOo

"Martha," Jonathan said, looking his wife intently in the eye, "who _is_ that boy?" He put his hand on her elbow. Martha looked tired.

"You know who he is," she replied quietly. "He's Clark."

Jonathan swallowed in frustration. _Here we go again._ Martha was always very tight-lipped when he started asking questions about Clark, sticking to some odd code of secrecy which that devil Lionel Luthor once had imposed on her.

"You weren't very surprised about his strength," Jonathan observed. Clark had gone to the bathroom and he planned to make use of the opportunity.

"I was afraid that this would happen," Martha whispered. She freed herself of his touch and walked over to the kitchen counter, running a hand through her hair in a worried gesture.

"That _what_ would happen?" Jonathan followed her. "Please. Talk to me."

She turned to him and Jonathan saw tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I'm sorry. I can't." Jonathan could see that she really wanted to tell him, that she wanted to confide in him, but as always there was something holding her back.

A very long time ago Jonathan had learned to live with the secrets between them, with the fact that he had no part in a very large portion of her life. After years of trial he had come to cope with that. Their marriage had survived, as had their feelings for each other. It was nothing short of a miracle really, and one that Jonathan didn't want to take for granted.

It had even gotten a little easier these last few years. Martha spent nine, ten, sometimes twelve hours every day away from Smallville, in that mysterious place she'd never even named for him; but when she came home it was always with a smile. In fact they'd both started to enjoy their shared time even more after he'd returned from Washington. Perhaps it had something to do with them getting older; they were probably, unconsciously, looking for stability and reliability in life. And Jonathan had stopped racking his brains about Martha's secrets, and her alliance with Luthor, and that unknown young man she sometimes made cake for. It was no use after all. The important thing was that he loved her, and hence had to support her.

But all of his principles threatened to fall now that the unexpected had occurred. Clark, the person at the center of Martha's second life, had shown up in Jonathan's house.

And nobody had any explanations.

"What do you think happens now?" Jonathan asked, unsure how to deal with Martha's uncharacteristic behavior. "As far as I remember you always said that Clark could never leave that place, for some reason …" He trailed off, hoping she would answer the implied question.

"He couldn't," was all she said, however. "And now he can't go back …"

"Why?" Jonathan frowned. "Not that I want to get rid of him … he's a nice boy for sure – bit different than I'd thought he would be, though."

"I only wanted to protect him," Martha abruptly muttered, staring into the distance. "It was for his own good …"

"What was? Giving him that medication so he wouldn't exhibit his meteor powers?" It sounded sharper than Jonathan had intended, and Martha's head snapped up.

"He doesn't _have_ meteor powers," she clarified.

"Right," Jonathan said, frustration returning. "Then tell me how he can do that little feat? No, wait. Don't tell me." He inhaled deeply. "Just one thing. He's in _our_ house. That makes this _our_ problem, not yours alone."

Martha's eyes were suddenly very sad, and the worry edged into her forehead made her look older than she was. "Honey –"

"Secrets, Martha." Jonathan put his arms around her waist and spoke softly. "I've always accepted them. I've accepted you living half your life in another place. I've accepted you teaming up with my personal enemy for whatever reason. For god's sake, I've accepted you having a _son_ who _I_ never even knew."

He squeezed her sides tenderly, "Please. Talk to me. Just this once."

She slowly leant into him while never looking away from his face, and in that moment Jonathan saw her love for him in her eyes. "It's so hard," she said coarsely. And he felt the weight she had on her shoulders. He almost became angry with Clark for doing this to her, deliberately or not. _Who the hell are you, boy?_

"Lex Luthor," Martha said.

"Huh?" Jonathan asked; that had come out of nowhere.

Martha shrugged, "He's the reason Clark can't go back," she said. "He's already waiting for him there."

Jonathan raised his brows in disbelief, "Lex Luthor? Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you say he doesn't know about that particular place?"

Martha sniffed, "He's never come to the facility before in any case. But today he did. And he was looking for Clark."

"_Lex_ Luthor?" a voice asked. Martha and Jonathan looked over at the door guiltily; how long had Clark been standing there for?

"Is that … Lionel's son?" Clark continued. Curiosity mixed with suspicion on his face.

"Uh, yes," Martha replied hesitantly.

Clark slowly came closer. "But - … what does he want with me?"

Martha shook her head tiredly, "I don't know."

Clark was obviously not satisfied with that answer. "What about my sickness, then? I haven't taken the medication in twenty-four hours, but you don't seem to be very worried about that?"

Martha was clearly trying to put reassurance into her voice but was failing, "Sweetie, of course I'm worried about you!"

Clark stared at her for a moment and the tension was almost palpable. Eventually, he blinked and looked away, "You're doing it again."

Martha frowned in confusion, "What am I doing, sweetie?"

Clark shrugged, "You never even realized, did you?"

Martha began to move in his direction. Jonathan gently clutched her arm.

"Realize – what?" Martha asked, not straining against her husband's grip.

Clark twisted his lips, "Heck, _I_ didn't even realize. I'm no child, Martha. As long as I lived _there_, it was … it was okay. It was enough. But as it turns out you're keeping even more things from me than I thought when I … I was hoping you - … you'd help me." With that, he turned around and walked out, the screen door falling shut behind him.

oOo

The phone was answered after she'd let it ring five times. "Hi Lois."

"Hi, cuz." Lois leant back in her chair. "I was wondering if you know what'll happen with Clark now?"

Chloe chuckled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, is he going to stay wherever you took him or is he going to be staying with us again?"

"I seem to remember you saying that you wanted to dump him off at a motel if that were the case?" Chloe said, still chuckling.

Lois rolled her eyes. "What's so funny?"

"You. You _want_ him to come back."

"That's not true!" Lois protested loudly. She quickly checked her surroundings; luckily, the _Daily Planet_ bullpen was almost deserted on Saturday late afternoons, and no one seemed to have heard her. "I just want to make sure he doesn't get into trouble."

"How come you're so interested in him when it turned out that he's no good as a source?" Chloe asked, still sounding highly amused.

Lois snorted and glanced at the computer screen in front of her. Her article was still only half finished and if she was honest with herself she doubted it would ever be published. She just didn't know what to write. "He's still an interesting … person," she finally said.

"You're talking about what he did to our door," Chloe guessed. "And I thought you were freaked out."

"I wasn't," Lois snorted. And after the first shock she really wasn't anymore. She blamed it on her natural journalistic curiosity.

That journalistic instinct also wanted to figure out the puzzle that was Clark more than anything. He'd been a guard at a Luthorcorp facility which held meteor-infected people, and as soon as he left that facility he started to develop such abilities himself? How likely was that?

What's more, he seemed to be freaked out by what was happening to him himself. This was a chance for Lois. Here was finally a guy with superhuman abilities who didn't belong to the ever elusive vigilantes.

Besides, his looks and overall shy demeanor helped. Even if she didn't want to admit it she couldn't forget his eyes and the way they looked at her. So hopefully.

"Hey – if you don't have more to say, Jimmy's waiting," Chloe's voice reached her.

"Sorry," Lois muttered, "had to read an email."

"Sure," Chloe said, "anyway, I'm going to get back there in a couple hours and see what Clark says. Alright?"

"Yeah. See ya." Lois hung up the phone. She sat there staring into nothing until one of her colleagues shook her out of her thoughts by slamming a pile of copies on her desk. Lois winced and almost blushed, quickly hiding her face in her coffee mug which had long since gone cold.

Really, she had no idea what was up with her.

oOo

The sight of the farm lying peacefully in the sun quickly calmed his nerves, and Clark stopped at the edge of the driveway, running a hand across his face. He wasn't surprised when he heard someone coming out of the house behind him and that someone turned out to be Jonathan.

The older man stood next to him, watching him in silence; then he let his gaze wander about his surroundings, the land of the Kents. "I hear you've got some passion for farming yourself," he said.

Clark nodded tentatively, "Yeah. It's … rewarding."

A new silence followed. Clark noticed that even without his conscious perception his senses were analyzing what was going on around him, the noises of the animals, the slight breeze, the smells of straw and ripe fruit.

He also noticed, with some shock, that deep down he was already starting to accept these changes.

Weird.

After the silence had stretched for a couple of minutes Clark made himself talk, "About earlier … that was pretty childish of me, huh?"

Jonathan smiled briefly, "You are in a unique situation," he said diplomatically.

"Yeah," Clark admitted, "but still … you really don't have a problem with what I … do?"

Jonathan smiled, broader this time. "Meteor-challenged people are a reality in and around Smallville. It's not fair trying to push them out of society, trying to alienate them. That will only provoke criminal behavior. They are _people_ after all, people who deserve to live good lives same as everybody else." He looked Clark calmly in the eye, "You're still a human being, right? So no, I really don't have a problem with what you do."

Clark's relief made him feel warm inside. This time, their silence was comfortable.

"You were telling me about how you met Martha earlier," Clark said at last.

Jonathan shrugged, his eyes full of memories, "Sometimes you're just lucky. On very rare occasions you meet someone and you know immediately that there's more to that meeting. That you just met a special person, someone that'll have an impact on your life. Do you know what I mean?"

Clark nodded; he was pretty sure that he did. _Lois._

"Our marriage has had its crisis or two, of course," Jonathan continued. "Sometimes I can hardly believe we're still together." He glanced at Clark from the side, "But honestly – if I ever lost her I have no idea what I would do."

Clark was quiet. He enjoyed hearing about this part of Martha's life that she'd hardly ever talked about, but he was pretty sure he shouldn't judge it.

"Really, the things we've gone through …" Jonathan went on wistfully. "That river flood for example."

"Flood?" Clark put in.

Jonathan grinned, "We'd only been a couple for some months, and I have to tell you, Martha's parents were very far indeed from accepting me. They basically hated that Martha spent so much time out here on the farm instead of studying, and Martha herself was … not entirely sure about what she wanted her life to be like, to put it like that. Anyway, that spring the Smallville river caused a terrible flood, threatening the homes of dozens of people. I persuaded Martha to help me and my friends fight against the flood. It was city girl Martha in rubber boots for the very first time. Anyway, after we were done the unthinkable happened – Martha told me it had made her happy stalking around in that mud and helping the people." He shrugged, "So you see, life has its own ways to make good things happen. No need to worry."

"Hmm," Clark muttered, staring into the distance.

"So what do you want to do now?" Jonathan asked him unexpectedly.

_I want to go back to Lois and Chloe_, Clark thought_. At least I can be sure they're honest with me._

"I don't know," was what he said. And he didn't want to think about the decision either.

Jonathan opened his mouth to go on talking, but Clark beat him to it, "I think I can hear it."

The older man raised an eyebrow, "Hear what?"

"Running water. I suppose it must be the river you were talking about."

Jonathan frowned in slight bewilderment, "Clark, that river is six miles away."

"Yeah." He grinned and had a feeling it turned out rather cheeky. "I have this … hearing thing going. My ears … they've kind of gotten better." He told himself it was excitement in his voice, not pride.

Jonathan slowly turned around to face him fully, "And when you say _better_ you mean … enabling you to hear a river in six miles' distance?"

"Yes." He swallowed. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to mention that after all.

"Clark, that's remarkable." There was no repulsion in Jonathan's face, just honest interest.

Clark fumbled for words. "When you were telling the story and I thought about that river it just … kind of happened," he explained meekly. Even now he was hearing a distinct murmur in his ears, of water running along grassy shores and over slight obstructions – as if it were no more than a few hundred meters away.

The former senator suddenly patted his shoulder, "You know what – why don't we get in the car and you can show me where you _think_ the river is," he suggested. "Not that I don't believe you."

"Now?" Clark asked, surprised.

"Sure," Jonathan said. "The truck's behind the barn – why don't you run ahead? I'm just going to tell Martha."

"Okay," Clark said. The sun was still up high, and exercise suddenly sounded very appealing.

"Yeah, let's meet at – … Clark?" Jonathan blinked in confusion. Clark was gone. As if he'd vanished into thin air.

oOo

A car pulled up on the gravel in front of the door, and Martha rose from where she'd been sitting at the living room table. She'd been waiting to get a word back from her husband, who'd left a while ago to speak with Clark outside. She had high hopes; if there was someone who could talk sense into the young man – or get him to talk at all, for that matter – it probably was Jonathan.

Now for the visitor. She smoothed down her blouse and opened the screen door. Whoever it was would surely be surprised to see her here at this time of day.

"Miss Sullivan," she said when she recognized the blonde young woman.

Chloe held out her hand with a polite smile. "Hi, Mrs. Kent. I know, I'm a little early. I told Clark I'd pick him up," she explained when Martha frowned in confusion.

"Oh," Martha said, taking the hand, "of course. I'm sorry, Clark isn't here right now – I think he's outside somewhere with my husband." She motioned for Chloe to enter.

Chloe did so without hesitation and got a seat. Martha offered her something to drink; while she was getting a glass of water from the kitchen a vague idea crossed her mind.

Chloe Sullivan had created a small reputation for herself to be good at working with meteor-infected people – helping them to take responsibility for their own actions and to become conscientious members of the society. And it clearly seemed like Clark had already bonded a little with her. Maybe this was a chance.

Martha had never been overly eager to take chances, but she was pragmatic. She knew that Clark wouldn't be very keen on discussing things with her, Martha herself, at the moment, not after he'd found out that she'd been keeping secrets from him. She wasn't ready to share all these secrets with him; not yet anyhow. But there was no way she could leave him alone.

"Miss Sullivan – Chloe," she said calmly as she sat down across from the young woman. "There is something I'd like to talk with you about – what do you know about Clark?"

Chloe leant back in her armchair and frowned, "Well, not much. He's a nice guy, although a little … unusual."

"Unusual? In what way?" Martha needed to know how perceptive Chloe had been.

The blonde woman shrugged. "Starting with how my cousin Lois apparently brought him from a Luthorcorp facility with only pajamas on all the way to how he's … pretty strong," she said in a tactful but honest tone of voice.

Martha smiled to herself; Chloe's observations made things slightly easier. "Yes, he does have some … abilities which would concern your expertise," she explained.

Chloe inclined her head, "_Some_ abilities? As in _several_?"

"Possibly," Martha muttered.

"Well, that's _really_ unusual," Chloe said, obviously excited by the news. "How come?"

"I don't know more than you," Martha replied, hoping the lie didn't show in her voice. "Anyway, Clark and myself aren't on the best of terms at the moment," she confessed then, casting her eyes down. "We had an argument and I'm pretty sure he'll prefer to stay with you and your cousin a while longer – if that's alright with you." It hurt a little having to admit that.

"No problem," Chloe quickly said. "Don't worry." She smiled with just a hint of uncertainty, "If you don't mind me asking – how do you know each other? Clark never mentioned. Are you related?"

"No." Martha couldn't help but sound wistful. "I met him a long time ago. And I always believed I knew him. But maybe that was wishful thinking."

Chloe waved her hand, "He'll brood over the argument, he'll feel guilty, and he'll get over it. The common human psyche works that way."

Martha smiled, "You're the expert." She knew of course that there was no reason for Clark to feel guilty about anything. None at all. And he didn't have a common human psyche anyway.

"It's gonna be okay, Mrs. Kent. You'll see," Chloe said, returning the smile. "We'll help him. Lois and I both. I promise."

oOo

He'd finally been able to stop somewhere in the middle of a forest. He stood there breathing hard, his mind all whirling with what he'd just experienced.

As if the freak strength and overactive senses weren't enough.

_I think I'm really going crazy._

He stood motionless for a long while; he didn't trust his legs not to start doing that _thing_ again. And really, he hadn't even wanted to start running like that. It just happened and suddenly he'd been so fast that the world seemed to be slowing down around him.

Luckily for him, his instincts, waking on the edges of his conscious mind, guided him safely through any obstacles that might come in his way while his mind still tried to grasp what was happening, without much success. When he came to a stop at last he was surrounded by trees and standing on muddy ground; birds flew overhead, and the late afternoon sunlight was dim here, filtered by the leaves.

Clark waited until his body seemed to have completely calmed down once more, then he cautiously took a step. His legs were apparently working normally again and with some relief he began taking in his surroundings. To his surprise he noticed a river flowing slowly right behind a row of slender trees. He walked down to the shore; weak sunrays reflected on the dark water, but he could also see grain fields spreading out into the distance on the other side.

So he'd found a river. Only he had no way of knowing if it was _the_ river.

He balled his fists and groaned. Why was this happening? More to the point, why did he have sufficient control over his strength but not over this speed thing?

He started walking along the river shore, trying to find some indication as to which direction he might have come from originally. He couldn't remember for the life of him. He'd been way too preoccupied to pay attention to where he was going. It was simple as that.

Ten minutes later he found a narrow road that stretched between the grain fields and was completely deserted. There was no car in sight, no house, not even a street sign.

Clark was beginning to feel angry with himself. This was ridiculous, and very embarrassing. He couldn't deny it though.

He had absolutely no idea where he was.

* * *

Review replies:

Clarkfan325: Thank you, and I hope you liked this one as well.

h-g-j-l-e-r-k: So the tractor scene was alright, I'm glad :) Some 'classics' are just too hard to resist ;)

IrishUnicorn: Thanks for giving my story a chance, and I hope it continues to be intriguing … to be honest I'm always a little afraid that I'm starting to bore my readers, and I know I'm also taking a long time for updates … can't be helped though. I'm trying to keep Lois pretty much in character and imo she _is_ like that when she really wants to get a story. However, her relationship with Clark will grow and change over time of course and as we all know Lois sometimes needs someone to show her where to stop, especially if she gets herself into trouble. Hope to hear more from you soon ;)

Kairan1979: Thank you. I'm not entirely sure yet about how much I'm going to include Chloe. I don't want to make her too important but she is such a beloved character, and I thought a mediator role would suit her. And first meetings are really hard to write imo so I'm glad you liked them ;)

Liz-El5678: I really intend to continue and finish this story, don't worry, and I even intend not to delay updates by more than two weeks. So glad you like my story ;) Interesting, amazing, those are adjectives that make an author happy :)

LoisNClark4Ever: I'm so sorry my updates take so long. I really am. Thanks so much for the detailed review :) Reviews like this really help a writer. Oh, I enjoyed Clark and Jonathan's relationship on the show too, and I really wanted to have that in my story. I hope their scenes in this chapter were alright as well. I'm honestly looking forward to hearing from you again :)

mickeiblue: Thank you so much :) Actually the 'fire action' thing is planned to happen in one of the future chapters, you're going to have to wait a little though. Oh and btw I keep on expanding my outline for the story, it's over ten pages long already. I don't know, this project really gets bigger than I'd expected :)

Mpj891: Thanks, I hope you continue reading even with the delays :)

NonOmnisMoriar: Another great review which makes my day every time I read it :) Yeah, I also thought it would be only logical that all of Clark's senses are heightened and you're right about everything being affected by the sun. I personally prefer stories which include some detail in storyline and descriptions so I try to do that in my fic as well, although it's sometimes difficult, especially in English ;) Glad you like it. I'm looking forward to hearing from you soon :)

reeven: Yeah, Lois can be pretty annoying, can't she? It's actually fun to explore all sides of her character, particularly the ones she doesn't like that much, i.e. the side which is attracted to Clark's innocence. Oh, and Clark won't stay helpless and vulnerable for long of course ;) Thanks for reading.

s01itaire90: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! I know, my story is building up slowly, I hope it's not too slow … Glad you like Chloe's job, it was suggested on the show that she's interested in psychology so I thought it might fit. Martha and Clark will have another talk in the next chapter and it's not going to be easy. Lol, I really like the word fantasterrific ;)

Cloismycel, where are you?

* * *

So … more reviews, please?


	7. 7: As the sun sets

As always thanks a lot for all the feedback! It keeps me motivated :) I swear I was planning to post this much sooner. I'm sorry. It's not that I'm lazy (although I am at times); it's that some parts of this chapter were really hard to write and then RL got in the way. Anyway I hope you'll enjoy this one and continue to comment :)

* * *

_7: As the sun sets_

If there was one thing Lex Luthor disliked more than he'd disliked his late father it was the shortcomings of electronic programs and of his own employees. He'd always thought that the purpose of both of those things was to make his life easier; how was it possible then, at the end of the first decade of the twenty-first century, that after having searched for hours there still was _no_ outcome to speak of?

Lex glanced at the screen of the black laptop that sat on the passenger seat in frustration. Two lines flickered in its center: _Clark, location 63851, Luthorcorp main_: 0 results. _Clark, Martha Kent_: 0 results.

He was currently seated behind the wheel of his Porsche, driving through a clear September late afternoon on his way from the former Smallville fertilizer plant back to Metropolis, from a boring staff meeting to a board conference which probably wouldn't be more exciting either; even though it _was_ going to deal with a successful takeover. While driving Lex was communicating over his headset with one of his personal assistants, a Mr. Romano, who was sending information to Lex's laptop.

"You're not telling me this is all?" Lex snarled and turned right at an intersection.

"Sorry, sir," Romano muttered meekly, "we tried everything, sir. There are no results linking the name Clark with Martha Kent, other than it was her maiden name, which is probably a coincidence –"

"It is _no_ coincidence," Lex snarled. "When dealing with mysteries every plain coincidence is a _lead_."

"As you say, sir," Romano said submissively. "We'll look into it."

"What about the description the guards gave? Have you searched the databanks?"

"Yes sir. We assigned Dr. Mallory to it. He managed to transmit the info into the search engine but it didn't work very well. Would be far easier if we had a picture, sir."

"Tell me about it," Lex muttered under his breath so his employee didn't hear. He passed an old truck and accelerated as he sped down one of the seemingly endless and impeccably straight roads of rural Kansas.

"Have you at least found any of the scientists on that paper I gave you?" he inquired, suppressing a sigh.

Romano cleared his throat, "No, sir. We believe that those names are either false or someone did an extremely thorough job of hiding them all."

Lex gripped the wheel tighter and ground his teeth. _Whatever did you do, dad?_

"Umm, sir," Romano's voice spoke up again into Lex's ear, "there's a rumor circulating among the team. They say the scientists we're looking for have been researching aliens." He sounded amused, but Lex detected real curiosity behind the words. Curiosity he really didn't need right now.

"And since when do you listen to rumors, Romano?" he asked in a deliberately bored tone. There was no way he could let anybody know the true purpose of the search. Not yet in any case.

Lex turned right again and sidled along a narrow bend in the road while Romano took a moment to answer, "I – I don't, sir. Just thought you might want to know."

"You thought wrong," Lex grumbled.

"Uh – okay," Romano said, subdued. "Anyway, sir – there's something else."

"Of course," Lex sighed. There was _always_ something else. Lex Luthor loved having power and money and influence, and he prided himself on his ability to multitask, to process all sorts of information and make decisions at the same time, but sometimes being the CEO of a large corporation just got to him.

He knew there were things far more vital demanding his attention right now – like that takeover he had been working months for and which was _finally_ coming around – but for some reason his mind kept constantly mulling over what he called _the alien matter._ He just couldn't seem to let it be.

He didn't like admitting it of course, but his ever growing interest had probably rather a lot to do with wanting to beat his father. He still had no idea how Lionel had succeeded in keeping something so big a secret. He'd been one of the wiliest businessmen of the country, no doubt about it, but the scope of this was something completely new. Hiding the discovery of _spacecrafts_, of real _aliens_, and covering up the fact that one had actually _examined_ them required a darn lot of organization, shrewdness, and cold-bloodedness. And passion, too.

Lionel must have had a damn good reason to go to such lengths. And Lex was deeply determined to find out.

If only there weren't so many petty matters to attend to.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Sending it to you now," Romano announced and thirty seconds later a new window popped up on the screen of Lex's laptop.

"It's the online edition of the _Daily Planet_," Romano's voice explained. "This article was published a couple of minutes ago."

Conveniently he had to stop at a red traffic light and Lex pulled the laptop a little closer in order to skim over the article. Its headline screamed out at him.

_Another Luthorcorp facility violates human rights_ it said, and underneath was a slightly blurry photo of a certain grey concrete building which Lex had last seen only a few hours ago.

The article talked about what the interior of the facility looked like in some detail and also mentioned the scientific experiments that took place there from time to time. Hands down, this part sounded more like hear-say than actual research but the fact remained that the actual location of the facility was uncovered. That was a disaster.

Most of the time, Luthorcorp's able PR staff managed to divert attention from newspaper articles like this easily enough. But everybody reading this particular piece theoretically would be able to visit the facility to see it with his or her own eyes. Lex already saw hordes of protesters gathering in front of the gate demanding entrance. This was going to be a PR nightmare. It would take large amounts of work and money to convince the public of Luthorcorp's goodwill this time.

_Damn it all_, Lex thought, flooring the gas pedal as the traffic light switched to green_. I should have bought that frikkin _Planet_ years ago. There has to be some way to make these journalists shut up for good._

He glanced at the byline of the article and wasn't surprised at all to read _by Lois Lane_. Of course. There was only one reporter who led her crusade against his corporation with such an ardent passion. And now she'd revealed that it had been her who'd broken into the facility last night.

"Damn you _woman_!" Lex snarled. He didn't realize that he was driving far above the speed limit by now, or that the afternoon light had begun to fade and the shadows were growing. As he turned onto Loeb Bridge he was furiously thinking about a solution for this potential problem and managed to block out most of the world beyond the steering wheel.

When he saw the dark figure in the middle of his side of the road it was too late – he couldn't stop or even slow down much without risking to lose control of the Porsche. Horrified he clung to the wheel, an icy hand clutching his heart. What now?

It all happened in a fraction of a second. Instinctively Lex swerved, just a little, at the exact same moment when the person on the road stepped sideways, resulting in them missing each other by no more than one or two inches.

Lex's head whirled, his heart kept on beating like a sledgehammer, and he just couldn't believe his luck. What the hell?

That had been a _damn_ close call.

He glanced at the rearview mirror; the person he'd almost run over was still visible in the distance, on the bridge, and he just caught a glimpse of frightened wide eyes.

"What the hell," Lex muttered, his hands clutching the wheel so tightly the knuckles had gone white. Perhaps he should stop. Perhaps he should see if that stranger was alright. Had the man recognized him or his car? Probably not; he had been way too fast. But still …

No. He couldn't drive back there. It was alright, wasn't it? Nothing had happened.

And anyway, what were they even doing standing in his way? Lex didn't have time to feel scared or dazed or guilty. He had important things to attend to after all. Far more important than this.

He drove on.

oOo

They found him after roundabout two hours of searching, and Jonathan could practically see how all the tension fell off his wife as he slowed the truck down in the middle of Loeb Bridge.

Martha didn't even wait until they had fully stopped. She climbed out and ran over to Clark, pulling him into a tight hug and beaming with relief, "Oh, my god, you're alright, you're alright …"

Jonathan walked over as well, taking in the appearance of the young man. In a physical regard Clark looked perfectly fine indeed; his hair was slightly tousled and his face was rather pale, that was all.

Or was it? The paleness was really striking. Jonathan decided to get to the bottom of it.

"What in the world happened?" he asked. "One second I saw you standing there, the next you were gone."

"I – I'm sorry," Clark muttered in a low voice. "I didn't want to. I … I couldn't stop."

Martha looked at him with a weirdly expectant expression, "You ran, didn't you."

"Yeah." Clark blinked at her, clearly surprised about her assumption.

Jonathan frowned, "What do you mean, you ran? How did you get _here_?"

Martha glanced at him and sighed, "He _ran_."

"Clark." Jonathan stepped closer. "Do you even know where we are? It's sixteen miles to the farm."

"I couldn't stop," Clark repeated. He sounded positively shell-shocked.

"You're telling me you ran for sixteen miles –" Jonathan began but was stopped by a sharp glance from his wife, "Oh, would you leave him alone for a minute, Jonathan?" She still had her arms around Clark, but the young man was rather unresponsive. He was also trembling slightly.

Martha seemed to have seen this as well. "Are you really okay, sweetie?" She craned her neck to look into his eyes, "Please, what happened?"

"There was a car," Clark finally said. "I was … thinking. I didn't even notice it until … it almost hit me."

Martha's eyes widened in shock while Jonathan felt an absurd rush of anger. "People are so careless these days," he hissed.

"I was careless, too," Clark said but Martha didn't agree. "Don't you dare blame yourself," she told him. "It's not your fault that these … _things_ are happening to you."

Clark looked unconvinced. Jonathan gestured towards their vehicle, "So are you planning on running back as well, or are you coming with us?"

"I … guess," Clark answered. He straightened up a little, "Thanks for finding me."

He didn't say _Thanks for looking for me_, Jonathan noticed. As if he hadn't been entirely sure they would put their every effort into locating him.

Martha smiled diffidently before she finally let go of Clark; she looked at the darkening waters of the river rolling slowly beneath the bridge. Jonathan did the same, wondering what she saw there, and their gazes crossed briefly.

"I'm going to make dinner when we're home," Martha said, then, brightly. "I'm sure you're hungry, Clark?"

Clark frowned as if he had to determine that at first. "Yeah, I am," he concluded, apparently surprised by his discovery.

Jonathan was relieved when Clark had slowly climbed into the truck and they drove off without any more incidents. So Clark had _run_, huh? So fast that Jonathan's eyes hadn't seen him? Well, it probably wasn't more unlikely than being able to lift a tractor with one hand.

But really. There was no need for him to just accept all this, was there? He wasn't Clark's father after all. He'd known him for no more than a couple of hours. Was it even right to already feel so comfortable – to feel as though they'd picked up a long lost family member?

It was all very confusing.

Still, one fact remained: Somehow, Martha had known about Clark's running beforehand. She knew about his abilities.

She knew.

oOo

There was still half an hour left until the board conference would be starting. Plenty of time to get some urgent matters off his mind.

Lex was seated behind the desk of his penthouse office at Luthorcorp Plaza. On the desk was a folder of the almost ancient kind, black and heavy, labeled _Real estate_ _1989-1990_. It had originally been filed away among dozens of similar items in the basement of the skyscraper and contained copies of all the financial transactions regarding property development which Lionel had signed for Luthorcorp twenty years ago. And on one of them Lex had found it.

The facility supply farm.

It actually figured as _laboratory for farming supplies_ on the record sheet but the location was correct and Lex had no doubt that he was right – especially considering that a call with the company which had been involved in the construction of the _laboratory_ at the time had yielded corresponding results.

Now, the interesting part was that according to Luthorcorp's records the facility to which the _laboratory_ belonged wasn't in use back then. It had been until four years before – housing some of the early medical research Lionel had dabbled in even in the late eighties – but had closed down by 1986 and as far as the records went the buildings had been deserted from then on. And Lionel had commissioned a laboratory to be built next to an empty facility? How very likely.

Except if he'd wanted to conceal the fact that it was to have a completely different purpose. Like hiding someone.

Lex smiled. This confirmed his suspicions, didn't it?

From 2003 on the facility had been used again for the 33.1 program. As a back-up facility to be exact, one which Lex had never deemed necessary to visit in person. The farm still didn't figure directly in the financial records; it appeared as though it had now become one of the dozens of numerical designations which, as far as the accountants were concerned, made up this particular facility in its entirety. It was there, yet hidden.

_How very clever of you, dad._

Lex closed the heavy folder with an audible thud. He pushed it away, stretched in his seat and looked over at his computer screen; it showed a certain personnel file, one that, unsurprisingly, contained far less data than most.

Lionel had been employing Martha Kent formally alright, but there was nothing specifying the kind of job she did, nor the money she was paid. According to the monthly payroll for the facility it could only be a fairly small sum, basically an expense allowance. But what was the expense?

And why Martha Kent? Why that woman, for god's sake? He knew of course that Lionel had been rather infatuated with her in his younger days. As it seemed he'd still been even after the death of his own wife. Was that the reason?

Had he given her a special task?

So many questions. Lex groaned silently and reached for his drink. He wondered if Martha's husband Jonathan, his former competitor, even knew about her "day job". He probably did. And was fine with it. Weird. Who would have guessed?

Lex tsked as he sipped at his glass. And he'd thought he knew the Kents.

The ringing of his phone interrupted his thoughts. Sighing, Lex put his glass down and answered, "Yes?"

"Sir, I wanted to give you an update on the Lois Lane thing." It was Romano's voice.

Ah, yes. That other matter. "I'm listening."

"As it turns out Mr. Klein is available tonight. He said he'd bring two new boys, as he called it, and wants to have the usual."

"Tell him if he wants to have _the usual_ he'll have to do the job _unusually_ well," Lex said, leaning back in his chair. "I wasn't very pleased by his methods the last time."

"Oh he knows that, sir, and he said he's happy to have an opportunity to restore his reputation."

"Tell him again that I don't want any dead bodies," Lex instructed casually, "and I _don't_ want him to talk to her. I have a feeling he might have forgotten that already."

"Will do, sir," Romano replied and hung up.

Lex slid the phone into his pocket and glanced at his watch; ten minutes to go. Time to prepare for the conference. If only the alien matter would stop haunting him for a little while.

It was no use. He just couldn't ignore a challenge when it presented itself.

Sighing, Lex pulled out his phone again. He walked over to the panorama window as he dialed and waited, gazing at the beginning dusk over the city.

oOo

They'd come home, they'd eaten, and even shared some small talk over dinner. The food was fine as always, the atmosphere was nice enough, and yet Jonathan knew that a small storm was coming. It was evident in the way Clark kept glancing at Martha; in the way he answered questions without really acknowledging them. The young man's thoughts were obviously very far away and Jonathan couldn't fault him for it, not at all. It wasn't so hard to imagine what one would feel like in Clark's place.

_Anxious_ was certainly an understatement.

Consequently Jonathan wasn't surprised when Clark rose as soon as dinner was over and trudged to the door, muttering something about having to think. Martha's gaze followed him as he closed the screen door behind himself. Nervousness and a tired sort of worry mixed on her face.

Jonathan put a hand on his wife's forearm and squeezed gently. "I think he's waiting for you."

"I know," Martha replied calmly. She visibly braced herself as she got up and walked over to the door. "For what it's worth – I have no idea how to do this."

"Well this isn't politics, so I'd say _honesty_ would be a good start," Jonathan told her.

"I'm going to have a try," Martha answered quietly, leaving the house.

oOo

He'd walked over to the horses' corral. A large bay stood by the fence and Clark petted its nose. There weren't any horses on Clark's farm but he found them easily approachable and grateful for his caresses.

The sun had begun to set by now, giving the grain fields and farm buildings a soft golden red tint. Clark had always found that not only was the air particularly rich with earthy scents at this time of day, it was also particularly clear, as if there were an extra layer of realness superimposed onto everything.

It was probably also the right time of day to have a talk about the truth.

He heard Martha stop a few steps behind him. He drew a deep breath before he turned around to face her.

"You _knew_," he said, his voice slightly shaky. "You knew about me. That this would happen."

She fidgeted with her hands as if she didn't know where to put them. "I … I didn't," she replied. "Not really. I … I guess I was expecting _something_."

"_Why_?" Clark took a step closer. "How could you know?"

"Clark." Martha reached for his hand and squeezed it. "You have to believe me. I always wanted the best for you. I wanted to protect you."

"Protect?" Clark scoffed and pulled his hand away. "You _lied_ to me. You lied about the medication."

Martha's jaw worked, "What makes you think that?"

"You still believe I'm kinda dumb, don't you?" Clark challenged. It didn't feel good to be talking like this. The Clark he'd always been wouldn't talk like this. But he didn't really feel like that person anymore.

He felt like he was slowly going crazy.

Martha blinked at him, "Clark –"

"How come that as long as I'm taking the medication I'm all normal and as soon as I leave that place and stop taking the stuff for one day I'm – … turning into a meteor freak?"

"But you're not," Martha said. She backed away from him, just one tiny step.

Clark inhaled deeply, "Why did you tell me I was sick?"

Martha hesitated, obviously searching for an answer. Clark was having trouble looking at her. She seemed pale and upset and small, in a way. There was almost nothing reminding him of the self-confident woman he'd always known.

He'd never seen her like this before.

"There … there never was any risk, was there?" he continued when she failed to reply. "There's nothing contagious about me, is there?"

Martha walked up to the fence to lean on it, clearly in need of some sort of support. "There could have been," she said, vaguely.

Clark decided not to be overly concerned with her obvious inability to deal with the situation. "You and Lionel," he said slowly, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all, "you always told me I had to stay there because I was dangerous to the rest of the world. You had me play _guard_ to the meteor-infected when I was one myself!"

"Clark." Martha looked up at him, putting emphasis into her voice, "you are _not_ meteor-infected. Or metahuman, for that matter."

"Then why?" Clark asked, fixing his eyes on hers. "Why did you do that to me? Why did you keep me there?"

Now Martha frowned. "You make it sound as if it was some kind of prison," she said. "I remember very clearly you telling me that you loved your life, time and time again."

For a second Clark didn't know what to say. Was he being unfair? Probably. But he just couldn't restrict himself at the moment. "Maybe I did, but I – … I didn't know! I was so grateful to Lionel because … because I thought he was helping me."

Martha's frown increased, "And he _was_!" She suddenly lowered her eyes and sighed almost tonelessly, "You have no idea to what lengths he went to protect you."

Clark stared at her. Most of what she said just didn't make sense. "Protect me … _why_? From who?"

Martha shook her head with a sad expression on her face, "Is that really so important?"

Clark just nodded.

Martha, however, still wasn't looking at him. He noticed that she had clenched her fists. "Why? You got what you wanted, didn't you? You're out in the open now and all of Lionel's efforts will probably have been for nothing." Her voice had turned into a whisper with the last words and Clark suddenly realized that she was close to tears.

He was unsure how to react – a crying Martha was something completely new – so he just stuck to his earlier anger. "His _efforts_?" he asked. "He … he kept me there for _twenty_ years."

Martha sniffed, wiping her hands across her face. "Yes. Because he loved you."

Clark hesitated. She sounded so damn sad, so lost and alone that he just couldn't go on confronting her like this. Maybe another kind of approach was in order. "I only want to understand," he said more calmly. "Why did Lionel think it was dangerous for me out here? Why did you help him?"

Martha's gaze went out into the distance where the landscape was softly gleaming with the last sunlight of the day. From Clark's point of view her face was now in shadow. "I can't tell you. I'm sorry. I just can't."

Clark began to protest, "Why not? I mean there's no one listening – …" He trailed off when he heard her talk again, very quietly, "Lionel never told me. He never said what I was supposed to do with you." She made a noise which sounded suspiciously like a sob. "I guess I thought he would be around forever. I mean I knew that he was constantly in trouble … the great and rich men always are … and with Lex …" She stopped herself, wiping at her spilling tears with an almost angry gesture.

Deep down Clark hated seeing her like this and he instinctively reached for her shoulder to show her that she was not alone. To his surprise she suddenly turned around and pulled him into a hug; a very tight one. "I'm so sorry," she muttered.

He couldn't bring himself to return the hug but he waited patiently until she had calmed down somewhat. "Ma – … Mom," he said, then, "please. I just want to know what I was doing at the facility. And why I now have these … abilities." What a weird word to say. "Please."

She looked at him for a long while, contemplating his request. Finally she let go off him. "I guess it's too late in any case," she muttered. "Fine. I now just wish I had practiced this conversation." It was probably supposed to be a joke but she didn't smile.

"You may want to sit down for this," she added, indicating the grass at their feet. Clark's heartbeat suddenly doubled as he followed her suggestion.

This had to be big.

Martha took a seat in the grass across from him. "How to start …" she said, clearing her throat. "Do you remember … at home, on the farm, in the barn … there was this large trapdoor in the floor which couldn't be opened."

Clark remembered very well. "Yeah. I thought it was an old storm cellar."

"Well, it wasn't a storm cellar. And it wasn't old either. It was built in 1990, like the rest of the farm." Martha seemed to take in Clark's surprise with some small amount of satisfaction. "Lionel had a very good reason to make it inaccessible. There is a dry space under the trapdoor which was specifically set up. Lionel had them moved elsewhere at some point but until the mid-nineties it was the storeroom for the spaceships he'd found. Two spaceships, to be exact." She paused, glancing at Clark with a wary eye. "I only saw them once but I remember thinking how perfect they looked. And unreal. As if someone had just dropped them there. And yet … one of them was yours."

oOo

The sky was slowly turning purple and red and orange while they talked. It actually created a nice backdrop for the kind of talk they had; it made the trivial everyday things seem very far away. As the sun was setting Martha witnessed how Clark made an admirable attempt at coming to terms with what she'd revealed to him. He obviously didn't really manage but nearly enough. It made her proud. She had no idea how she would have reacted in his place. It wasn't like there was anything to compare the situation with.

It wasn't like anybody else had ever had to realize that they'd been born on another planet.

"So I came with the meteors," Clark was saying.

"Yes. You may want to stay away from those, by the way – the green rocks," Martha replied carefully.

A brief look like a memory passed over his face. "I know."

He did? Whatever had he been doing during the one day that they'd lost contact? Before she could ask he turned his head to frown at her, "What I don't understand is … assuming that I really came from somewhere _out_ _there_ … how did Lionel even find me? I mean how did he know where to look?"

That was a very good question, and one which Martha would have liked to know the answer to as well. "I don't know."

Clark obviously didn't believe her and started to protest, but Martha raised her voice a little, "I really don't. He never told me _how_ exactly he found you. What I know is this – he called me that day twenty years ago, out of the blue, and said he needed to introduce me to someone who turned out to be you, a three year-old child. He showed me your ship and he told me a number of things that he'd found out about you. Those things he thought important, I guess. It wasn't all that much. He seemed convinced that what you needed most was a … a mother."

"And you just accepted that?" Clark asked, voice showing a hint of anger. "Didn't you want to know more? More about me?"

Martha watched him with growing concern. He clearly was much more upset than he let on. While his self-control was a relief it also kept her from seeing what was _really_ going on inside of him. That was something new – she'd known Clark for two decades and now he was slowly turning into a stranger before her very eyes. Which mostly was her own fault, of course. "I'm sure it's hard for you to understand," she said, "but at that time I just was glad that I _had_ you … that he'd chosen me for you. I'd always wanted to have children but I couldn't."

She hadn't really expected Clark to accept that explanation, and he didn't. "But it was nothing like a normal home, was it?" he asked quietly. "I've seen it, Martha. I know that you've kept the real world from me. Why did you do that?"

Martha looked at him sadly, at a loss for words. Clark snorted but sounded sad himself when he spoke again, "You were afraid that I'd leave you."

Martha swallowed, "Sweetheart …" If only he would stop asking questions. It was wearing her out and more to the point, it made her feel terrible.

"Then why? Why couldn't you tell me about all of this any earlier?" He stared at her hard. A part of her wanted to squirm away from his eyes but found it impossible. "It's true, isn't it? You were afraid I'd leave you."

Martha shook her head, "No, it's not that." Registering his disbelieving frown she added, "There were many reasons." None of which she could name now that he was looking at her like that.

She suddenly felt like the most selfish person on earth.

While she was still mulling over what she could possibly tell him Clark was distracted by Shelby who scurried over from somewhere and lay down next to him. Clark proceeded to ruffle the dog's fur; after a couple of minutes he looked at Martha again, who noticed that his expression had changed somewhat.

"What about the other ship? Was there anyone in there?" he asked, almost as if he didn't think she'd answer him. But Martha did.

"Yes. There was someone. A girl. But she … Clark, I'm so sorry, but she died."

Clark cast down his eyes. He was silent for a while, and Martha kept observing him; there was nothing else she could do. Only a little sunlight was still grazing the horizon, the growing shadows matching the mood.

In the end Clark didn't inquire after the reasons for the girl's demise. In fact he didn't say anything more; he just sat there, running his fingers through Shelby's fur and apparently deep in thought.

Unconsciously, Martha reached out with her hand to touch his shoulder but drew it away again. He didn't move. She pulled herself to her feet and addressed him hesitantly, "You're not going to run off again, are you?"

"Not if I can help it," Clark said. Anger and bitterness had left his voice. "That was awful. I'm never doing that again. I couldn't control it."

"I'm sure you'll be able to control it, with time," Martha told him softly. "And besides, you'll have to."

Now she had his attention. "What do you mean?"

"Clark." She cleared her throat. "I'm sure you don't want to anyway but even if you did – … the medication was always delivered to the facility. Anonymously, as part of the deliveries for the treatment of the … patients. I have no idea where it comes from originally – Lionel arranged for that. The point is, should you decide to start a life out there … you won't get it anywhere." She tried a weak smile, "You'll have to manage."

Clark looked away again, off into the distance where the night was waiting. "No way back," he muttered.

"No way back," Martha confirmed, feeling as if some sort of book were closing somewhere. Maybe she'd clung to that book for too long. Maybe they both had. "Well," she said, "I'll let you think. If you want to talk some more … we're in the house."

He didn't look at her but he did mutter absentmindedly, "Okay."

Martha knew that was all she would get. He was probably still very far from forgiving her but maybe it was a start. She could live with that, for now.

She turned around and left him there to ponder his future.

* * *

No Lois in this one, I know. She'll return in the next chapter though (as will Chloe) ;) I promise I'll _try_ to update sooner next time.

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Review replies:

clarkfan325: Thanks a lot for your continuous support.

cloisfinally123: Thank you for reviewing! I hope I can keep you curious :)

cloismycel: Hey, don't worry, I don't want to keep you from studying! (It's what I do all the time *sigh* Writing this is more fun than writing a thesis.) As for the slug thing, I think I actually invented that one :D Thanks for mentioning it! So I guess some things were revealed in this chapter, not too much though. There will be more revelations over the course of the story. I hope I get it right. One reason for taking so long to update is that I edit my chapters so much because I'm never satisfied with them ;) Oh and it is spring here alright (I live in Europe). It's really beautiful outside! Spring is good! (And my birthday is in a couple of days.) Anyways, thanks for motivating me! Hope to hear from you soon!

h-g-j-l-e-r-k: Thanks :) I hope you have some more patience … but they _will_ get together eventually.

imhooked: (Cool name btw) Thank you. Okay this update wasn't soon I know. I'll have to try and write more. Hey, you're the only one who mentioned the river scene from _Hostage_, congrats ;)

IrishUnicorn: Thanks for reviewing again ;) I always had the impression that Martha and Jonathan have a great deal of trust going on in the show and in my story I'm trying to sound out how far that really goes (don't know how good I am at writing that). No Lois in this chapter but I can assure you that even off-screen she's still thinking about him ;)

Kairan1979: Thanks for your review ;) Well, Clark didn't run into trouble yet but he will.

Lady Di II: Thank you for reviewing :) Glad that you like the characters. Lois is going to evolve of course and as we know, Lois and Clark bring out the best in each other. Lois isn't that bad really, she just puts herself under a lot of pressure. She's also fun to write I think :) And thanks for finding Lex creepy. Is he really? I hope you continue reading.

LoisNClark4Ever: I think it's only fair that I respond to your comments. Your reviews mean so much and help a lot. I hope the Martha/Clark conversation in this chapter was alright, it was really hard to write. And I'm really sorry that updating took sooooo long again ;)

Mayicita: Thank you for reviewing. Turns out Martha opened up to Clark first. Jonathan won't have to wait for too long though. I hope you continue reading :)

mickeiblue: Making your day is good :) Well Clark has learned what he is now but that's not the end of it of course. I know that's probably not how the Clark of the show would have reacted but he's still a little OOC as of now and will become more like we know him in the course of the story. As for Lois … we'll see ;)

NonOmnisMoriar: Thank you so much! The interaction between Jonathan and Clark actually isn't easy to write so I'm glad you liked it. Martha and Jonathan had their troubles of course but I guess they understood at some point that they only have each other and have to savor that. I don't know if it's realistic. Probably not. But they're such a likable couple. Oh and I think I know what you mean about Clark. I enjoy exploring his character; I just have to pay attention that he doesn't become too complicated ;) Sorry for the long delay in updating.

Precious Angel: Thank you so much, you're making me happy ;) I hope you continue reading even with the delays.

reeven: Wow, thanks for your enthusiasm :)


	8. 8: Weird

Hooray! Hello wonderful readers! I didn't abandon this story! :D Sorry for the delay. At least it's a very long chapter. Anyway thanks for the feedback. Also thanks to the people who fav'd my story or put it on alert, even if you're not reviewing ... Well here we go – enjoy!

* * *

_8: Weird_

It was almost completely dark when Chloe arrived at the Kent farm for the second time that day. As she exited her car she was assaulted by a golden bundle of fur which she remembered was the Kents' faithful dog, Shelby. She greeted the joyous animal before she walked over to the front door and knocked. After a minute Martha Kent opened; she looked a little shaken and apparently needed a moment to recognize Chloe. "Ah, Miss Sullivan."

"Hi." Chloe grinned broadly, "Have you settled your argument with Clark?"

Martha nodded though her manner still seemed slightly off, "I think so. He's outside. Has been sitting there for a while now." Chloe looked where Mrs. Kent was pointing. "Okay, I'm going to look for him," she said; Martha nodded again and closed the door once more.

Chloe walked through the somewhat chilly air over to where she could make out a figure sitting in the grass. Three hours earlier, Martha had sent her away in something of a hurry; Chloe didn't know what exactly had happened but she knew from experience that most things usually sorted themselves out. She'd used the time to make some errands in Smallville, had refilled the fridge at the Talon apartment, and then casually driven back here. Lois had called a couple of minutes ago to announce that she was finally leaving the _Planet_ and was going to order pizza.

"Hey you," Chloe greeted Clark who flinched, then looked at her. "Isn't the grass wet by now?" Chloe asked, squatting and feeling with her hand.

Clark just shrugged. Chloe watched him closely. "What's up? You don't look very happy." That was an understatement. There was a gloomy expression plastered onto Clark's face and his hands looked rather cramped. His eyes turned away from her again and his lips were set in a sulky fashion that Chloe associated with teenagers rather than with twenty-somethings.

"You didn't strike me as someone who broods," Chloe told him in an attempt at humor. He didn't react to it in any way.

"Umm," Chloe said when Clark still hadn't answered after a while, "I'm really here to ask if you want to come back to the Talon with me or if you'd prefer to stay with the Kents."

"No," Clark said quickly and firmly, surprising Chloe. "I mean, I don't want to stay here."

"Alright then," Chloe muttered. Whatever had happened between him and Martha? "Lois is ordering pizza for us," she said although she was pretty sure that no further incentives were needed.

He nodded. He pulled himself off the ground, brushing off his pants, and turned around to her. Chloe was impressively reminded of how tall he was. "Umm … you want to say bye to the Kents?" she asked.

"Okay," he replied, but his thoughts were obviously somewhere else already, "Chloe –"

"Yes?" She was absurdly pleased that he was using her name now.

"Are you really alright with me … staying with you?" One eyebrow was raised in a doubtful expression.

Chloe smiled. "Yeah, I am. Really."

He frowned, "And Lois too?"

Chloe almost chuckled, "Yes, Lois too."

The doubtful frown was still there, "Even though I have these …" He fleetingly indicated himself.

"Extras?" Chloe finished his sentence, smiling when she caught his surprised look. "Are _you_ alright with them?"

He pondered the question for a moment, then shrugged, "I guess."

"Really?" She tilted her head, "Those abilities are new, right?"

"Yeah." It came with a brief hesitation.

The psychologist in Chloe pushed forward, "I'm only asking because most people of your kind first have to go through a struggle to accept themselves. Sorry for being blunt." She could have smacked herself. What was she doing? This wasn't her office, this was them standing in the middle of a farm in the darkness being uncomfortable. She was probably risking all the thin trust he was putting in her.

But he only shrugged again, "These … _extras_ … belong to me. And always have. I can't deny them." He frowned, lowering his eyes, "Even though they may surprise me at first …" He trailed off and blinked, as if he was unsure that he was saying the right thing.

"I guess I learned it working at the facility," he eventually added, thoughtfully. "Those who wanted to be normal people but weren't … they were those that got into the most trouble. Denying everything isn't good at the end of the day."

Chloe was amazed. Where did this acceptance come from? She'd have to ask Martha about what had really transpired between them. Most of her patients – if she was honest she was already counting Clark as one – needed years to get to this stage.

She couldn't help herself and smiled broadly at him, to which he responded with a smaller smile himself.

"So," Chloe motioned in the direction of her car, "you ready to go? You wanted to say bye to the Kents …?"

Five minutes later they were finally seated in Chloe's car and Chloe steered it off the farm grounds. She hadn't listened in on what had been said between Clark and the Kents, but Clark didn't seem overly affected by it so it apparently had gone alright. He stared out the window with his forehead creased, obviously deep in thought again, and Chloe left him to it.

She only broke the silence when right on the edge of the Kent lands a dark-colored van passed them from the opposite direction, and she caught the sinister gaze of the man sitting behind its wheel.

"Whoa," Chloe exclaimed, watching the van disappear in the rearview mirror, "that guy didn't look too friendly."

Clark didn't say anything and Chloe drove on, dismissing the van with a shrug; after all, Jonathan Kent had been a successful senator and was surely capable of dealing with whatever men in black were coming to visit.

oOo

"Martha," Jonathan said when Clark and Chloe Sullivan had left, "please talk to me."

Martha, looking more tired than ever before, slowly turned around. "What do you mean?"

Jonathan sighed and leant in to her, speaking tenderly, "Clark seemed different after your … talk outside."

Martha inclined her head and smiled a little, "Good different or bad different?"

"Good, I guess," he replied. "Whatever you told him, there was less tension between you two as far as I could see."

Martha smiled again, "Well, sometimes it just takes some courage," she muttered, leaving Jonathan in the dark as to what courage she meant, and instead walked over into the kitchen area to make coffee. She suddenly stopped and turned her head as if listening. "Is there someone coming?"

Jonathan walked to a window and looked out. There was a dark van loitering on the driveway, and at this moment two dark-clad men were climbing out.

"They look like Secret Service or something," Martha said, standing next to him.

Jonathan glanced at her. He'd dealt with plenty of Secret Service-type people back in Washington and was pretty sure he could tell them apart. "Those guys have nothing to do with the government," he determined. "They think they can intimidate people with their looks, that's all. I know who they work for."

Suddenly the doorbell rang and Jonathan went to open, Martha following one step behind him. The two men in the doorframe were broad-shouldered and wearing long black trench coats; actually only the sunglasses were missing to complete the cliché. It was amusing really. "I didn't know that Luthorcorp resorts to door-to-door sales now," Jonathan greeted them.

One of the men slowly raised an eyebrow. "Can we come in, Mr. Kent."

Jonathan frowned, "I wasn't aware we had an appointment," he said.

The second man stepped forward. "This is a chance visit," he explained dryly. "We were in the area when I remembered that Mr. Luthor had some questions for you. Or rather, your wife."

"Of course," Jonathan muttered, watching as the two men entered the house.

"Is that coffee I smell?" the second man asked, looking over at the kitchen counter. "Would you be so kind as to pour me some, Mrs. Kent? What about you, Williams?" The other man assented, and Martha begrudgingly went to pour a couple of cups. Meanwhile, the two visitors sat down at the table without waiting for an invitation. "Let's get straight to the point," Williams began. "Mr. Kent, are you aware that your wife used to work for Mr. Luthor Senior, and continues to be employed by Luthorcorp to this day?"

Jonathan slowly sat down across from them. "Of course I am," he said steadily.

The other Luthorcorp agent bent forward. "And yet, nobody else does," he said. "Especially none of the journalists who took your life apart when you campaigned for the Senate. I wonder how that is possible."

"Personal reasons," Martha said as she sat the cups onto the table with a rather loud clank. "Mr. Luthor – Lionel – was kind enough to keep our … association from the public. Our economical situation was quite different when I first began to work for him. I didn't want that smeared across the front pages. " She didn't sit down but remained standing behind Jonathan's chair.

"Economical reasons, is it?" Williams said. "It wasn't any form of … personal relationship with Mr. Luthor that made you do it, or –"

"Are you implying," Jonathan interrupted him harshly, "that my wife was involved in some kind of affair with _Lionel Luthor_?" How dare he say that?

Williams looked at him with cool eyes, "I'm not implying anything, Mr. Kent." He leant back, "If you'd let me finish my sentence – I was going to ask if someone named _Clark_ was the reason."

For one or two seconds there was absolute silence in the house until Martha fixed Williams with a firm gaze, "I believe I already told Mr. Luthor that I don't know anyone by that name."

Williams slowly lifted his coffee cup, "Well, Mr. Luthor doesn't seem to believe _you_."

Martha, her hands on the backrest of Jonathan's chair, inhaled audibly. "That isn't my problem," she said, voice more icy than Jonathan had ever heard before.

Williams didn't even blink, "It is, if you aren't telling the truth."

Jonathan almost jumped out off his chair. "Are you calling my wife a liar?" he challenged, barely able to curb his anger.

"Such a hard word to use for such a reasonable person," Williams answered. "Though I can't help but wonder how very quick you are to defend her." He sipped at his coffee, remaining completely calm.

"She's my _wife_, for god's sake," Jonathan crunched out. "Are you married, Mr. Williams?"

"I was," Williams said, shrugging. "Too much trouble."

"Well," Jonathan wryly said, "that probably explains your lack of integrity."

The second dark-clad man had almost finished his coffee already and was now leaning forward, "This isn't about social skills, Mr. Kent. Mr. Luthor has a right to know if there was someone hiding away in one of his facilities for years, particularly when that someone had regular contact with the patients."

"Patients," Jonathan scoffed. "Poor _guinea pigs_ is more like it."

"May I remind you that this visit isn't about corporation procedures either," the man said. Before he could go on Jonathan raised his voice, "Even if it isn't – I don't believe I have to answer any questions posed to me in my own house by people who don't have any kind of authority over me."

This briefly silenced both visitors and Jonathan suddenly realized that he'd met the second man before, a long time ago. "I know you," he said. "Romano, was it? You were one of Luthor's helpers who made sure to put any number of obstacles in my way a couple years ago. I distinctly remember you telling journalists about my supposed failing of college at one of my election rallies." He suddenly had an idea how he could turn the tables. "Is this what all this is about? Is Lex still mad at me for winning?" He made himself grin and sure enough, Romano and Williams' faces darkened.

"You're trying to sidetrack," Williams realized.

Jonathan almost smiled. _It's that obvious, is it?_ "You know," he said conversationally, "if this is some personal matter then why doesn't Mr. Luthor come himself instead of sending his men who obviously don't really know what they're talking about?"

He wasn't sure if it was such a good idea to suggest a private visit from Lex Luthor, but he could see that Williams and Romano were quickly losing their patience.

"Mr. Kent –" Romano began and was interrupted by Martha, "Please. You're not going to find what you're looking for here. You might as well leave."

Romano looked doubtful. "You wouldn't be so keen on us leaving if you didn't have to hide something."

Jonathan got to his feet and waited for them to follow. "Yes I would. You're Luthorcorp. It's personal." He gestured towards the door. "And it's getting really late."

Satisfied he watched them stand up and reluctantly shuffle back to the door. Jonathan wasn't surprised at all when one of them felt the need to give them a last warning, "This isn't over yet."

"Of course not," Jonathan said pleasantly. _You guys _do_ love your clichés, don't you?_ "But I'm going to tell you again. If you've lost some Clark or other it has nothing to do with us."

Grumbling under their breath the men walked out. Then, Romano stopped once again, "If you come to think you _have_ information after all –"

"Will the word _police_ scare you off?" Jonathan asked. "The sheriff is a friend, you know. Now get off my property."

That did it. Romano glanced at him one last time and then they entered their car and left, melting into the darkness.

When Jonathan closed the door he noticed that Martha had tears in her eyes again. "What is it?" he asked, gently taking her into his arms.

Martha shook her head and swallowed, "It's just … why does it have to be Luthorcorp? Why Lex Luthor? He won't let up."

"Neither will we."

Martha reacted to his firm statement with a weak smile, "Yeah. I know. But Lex Luthor is the richest man in this country. And one of the most ruthless."

Jonathan kissed her forehead. "Who's to say that farmers from small-town Kansas can't be ruthless too?" He frowned and looked at the phone where it sat on the counter, "And I already know what my first ruthless act will be. I'm going to shut down that facility."

oOo

At some point as he'd been sitting there on his own in the grass Clark had reached a conclusion; and taken a decision. Since that moment he'd started to feel much better. His decision didn't clarify everything. But it would be a beginning.

Because in the end there was no need to always go with the norm, was there? Or in his case, to react the way that everyone – Martha – probably expected.

Yes, this was all very weird and scary and the perfect reason to flip out. Even when leaving the alien part out of the debate. He'd turned into a freak overnight, without warning. His world had toppled over and now everything was upside down. And sure enough, a sizeable part of him just wanted to hide away and never come out again.

He knew that it would take him ages to even remotely come to terms with this new him.

But it wasn't a disaster, was it? It was an _opportunity_.

He didn't want to define himself by his past, and anyway there wasn't much of a past to speak of. But if leaving that away there wasn't much that remained. _Who_ was he? He didn't even have a real name.

So maybe, just maybe this new side of him was a chance.

A chance for change. A starting point to become a real person. He wouldn't be the ghost any longer.

"You're smiling," Chloe remarked, startling him. She grinned at him from the side. "Happy thoughts?"

Clark fidgeted, "Umm … yeah."

Chloe turned off the car, "We're here." Clark realized they'd parked in an alley. Music – still somewhat strange for him – was pouring out of windows in the surroundings. Chloe gestured for him to get out.

Clark straightened his shoulders as they walked to the front entrance of the Talon. Time to get ready for the new life that would be starting tonight.

oOo

"What took you so long? The pizzas are getting cold. Sorry, I started on mine," Lois greeted them when they entered the apartment, sitting on a chair and waving a pizza carton in her hand. Chloe smiled at her while Clark watched with big eyes. Now what? Had he never seen someone eat pizza before?

"Sit down," she commanded him when he hesitated in the middle of the room; Chloe was already kicking off her shoes and diving into her pizza box. "I figured you'd like pepperoni," Lois told Clark, "seems most men do."

"Thanks," he finally muttered and sat on the couch; Lois put his pizza on his lap. "Here you go." She curiously watched him as he opened the carton and evidently had to keep himself from sniffing at the contents; he carefully took a slice out, looked at it, then bit into it and nearly choked.

"Hey, hey – are you alright?" Chloe had reacted quickly and was clapping Clark on the back; his face had turned marginally red and he needed a moment to swallow his bite, "Yeah, it's just – ah, spicy."

Lois eyed him closely and frowned, "Are you sure you aren't allergic?"

He forced a smile, "Just a little sensitive." He inclined his head so his dark hair fell across his forehead and went on eating, more slowly this time. Lois wanted to return to her own pizza when she noticed Chloe inspecting her hand and shaking it. "Chlo? Something the matter with your hand?"

Her cousin looked up and shook her head, "Nothing."

Lois shrugged, continuing on her pizza. "So what's up tonight?" she asked brightly with her mouth full.

Chloe smiled at her, "You're awfully happy?"

Lois shrugged again, "I managed to write that article after all and I think it turned out pretty good." She finally swallowed her bite. "All that crawling around in the mud had to be good for something."

Chloe's face darkened. "Lex Luthor won't be glad about it," she prophesied.

"Hardly a newsflash," Lois replied, unimpressed.

Chloe looked at her sincerely, "He won't tolerate your crusade forever, cuz. One day he'll snap."

"Oh, this army brat is _shivering_ with fear," Lois scoffed.

Chloe glared. "Lois, I'm serious."

"So am I." Lois finished her pizza and dropped the carton on the floor. "Honestly, what do you think he can do? The _Planet_ is pretty good at handling legal actions should he stoop so low as to sue us."

Chloe sighed, "Lois, don't you see it? It's _Lex Luthor_ we're talking about. That man has his ways to make people shut up."

Lois sneered, "He can try." She could practically see Chloe thinking something along the lines of _My impossible cousin is a disaster waiting to happen_, but the blonde psychologist didn't say anything aloud. She knew of course that nothing she had to say would faze Lois in the slightest. There was a reason why Lois was said to be the best of the _Planet_'s junior reporters and no looming dark presence whatsoever, be they named Luthor or something else, was ever going to keep her from defending that reputation.

Lois hopped off the couch and shuffled over into the kitchen to get something to drink. "You didn't answer my question," she yelled over her shoulder. "Bar? Movie? Um … game of cards?"

"I have some work to do," Chloe said.

Lois walked back, glass of water in hand, and rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, it's Saturday."

"Which didn't keep _you_ from working," Chloe reminded her.

Lois smiled, "Okay, let me rephrase that. It's Saturday _evening_." She bent her head closer to her cousin's. "You don't _really_ want to leave me alone with _him_?" she asked, nodding towards their guest who was sitting there, looking distracted.

"I was under the impression you'd be happy having him all for yourself," Chloe snickered.

Lois froze. "No I'm not!" she hissed, then. "He's - … he's _weird_!"

"I bet he thinks the same about us," Chloe said, grinning broadly. They were interrupted by the object of their attention suddenly speaking up. "You … you know Lex Luthor?" Clark asked.

Lois fixed him with her gaze, creasing her forehead, "'Course I do. Why?"

"And you think he's dangerous?" Clark went on without acknowledging Lois's question.

"He's a frikkin' devil," Lois said. "But don't worry. He's much too powerful to concern himself with us."

Clark was silent, staring at his knees.

"Why?" Lois asked again, her curiosity piqued. "Do _you_ know him?"

"No," Clark answered, still not looking up. "Not yet," he added, very softly.

"Won't take you too long," Lois stated. "That man is _everywhere_." She waited for Clark to maybe say something more but nothing came, except for a thoughtful gnaw on his bottom lip. Eventually she got up and walked to the DVD collection on a board next to the TV. "Alright. Suggestions for a movie anyone?"

oOo

In the end Chloe and Lois had decided on _Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End_. They'd gotten drinks and tortilla chips and popcorn. Lois had provided Clark with a beer but it was slowly turning warm in his hand where he held it whilst his eyes were transfixed on the TV screen. Lois kept looking over at him in amazement; honestly, had he never watched a movie before?

Then she remembered the strange farmhouse back at the Luthorcorp facility and the lack of modern amenities she'd noticed there. It suddenly seemed entirely possible that he indeed hadn't. Weirdo.

A cute weirdo though.

_Gah!_ Lois deliberately looked away and stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

When the movie finally neared its end she could hardly wait to get to her feet and make announcements for the time left. "I don't know about you, but I could use some air," she said, already grabbing her coat.

Chloe frowned at her, "Where are you going?"

Lois shrugged, "For a walk."

Now Chloe raised an eyebrow, "Since when do you go for walks?"

Lois snorted, "Well, I do." She couldn't tell her cousin that she really needed to think, could she? No. That would sound silly.

Chloe was still frowning. "It's dark."

"You can come with me if you think it's unsafe," Lois said brightly. But Chloe inclined her head, "I have a better idea." She turned to Clark who'd been following their conversation in silence, "Why don't _you_ go with her?"

He all but gasped at the suggestion while Lois rolled her eyes. What was Chloe doing? Wasn't it obvious that she wanted to go outside in order to get away from _him_ for a while?

Whatever, she wasn't going to argue about it. Even she, intrepid Lois Lane, had her limits. Consequently she only shrugged and glanced at Clark, "Fine. I guess I could do with some company."

oOo

Once they'd left the building Lois walked off down the street and Clark followed her; a little hesitantly maybe, always one or two steps behind her.

Seeing as it was a Saturday night it wasn't all that quiet around them – but really, Smallville was just that, a small town, and Lois was once again reminded that she couldn't commute between here and Metropolis forever. She liked the big city well enough but her problem was that no one was waiting for her there. She was Lois Lane of course, army brat who'd been fending for herself since her early teens but she still didn't feel ready to live completely on her own, and wasn't afraid to admit it. To herself.

Anyway she knew that taking the decision was only a matter of time. It wasn't like she'd never see Chloe again; after all her cousin worked in Metropolis often enough. If only she could find someone else who was as reliable. Regrettably when it came to men Lois had had her heart broken so often – last time by a certain cocky billionaire who even had the nerve to still call her a friend after all that – that she wasn't very willing to trust them anymore. Again, she only admitted that to herself of course.

"So," Lois asked when they'd been walking for a couple of minutes, "what's up with you?"

"Huh?" Clark muttered.

"With _you_," Lois said, rolling her eyes. "What are you gonna do next? Could the Kents help you?"

She slowly shook her head, "I still can't believe you know the Kents," she snorted. "It's a pity Mr. Kent has retired from the public. Or you could have helped me write an exclusive article on –"

"Is that all you care about? Your next _article_?" Clark interrupted her, completely shocking Lois with his fierce tone.

"Well I _am_ a reporter," Lois replied carefully. Holy shit, he suddenly looked livid. Whatever had she done?

"That doesn't entitle you to dig into people's lives," Clark said. "How would you feel if someone did that to you?"

Lois had stopped and turned around to him. "Are you talking about Mr. Kent or about Lionel Luthor?" she inquired. "You _do_ know more about him, don't you?"

"Well in my experience he was a good man, not the devil you make him out to be. I could tell you nothing that would interest you," Clark replied harshly.

Lois sighed inwardly. _And that was that, probably_, she thought. "Oh would you please calm down? It was only an idea," was what she said aloud. "Maybe you want to tell me how you know the Kents. I promise I won't write about it," she added soothingly. "Or, maybe you don't."

He only snorted.

They'd walked on for a quarter of an hour when Lois's slow thoughts suddenly reached a shocking conclusion. "The woman that you mentioned," she said, turning around again to look at his face, "the one who visited you every day on that farm. Was that _Mrs. Kent_?"

A shadow slipped across his eyes before he quickly set his jaw, "You just said you wouldn't research the Kents," he reminded her. "You promised."

Lois crunched her teeth. Damn it. He'd beaten her at her own game.

But why was he so damn secretive about everything? He had to be the weirdest and cagiest person she'd ever met. She was completely fascinated and utterly annoyed by him at the same time. It made her want to cry.

"Lois?" he asked after a moment, in a low voice, "why do you let me stay at your apartment?"

Lois snorted. _Good question._ She really didn't know.

"You don't have any money, do you?" she said, shrugging, putting the mask back into place.

"I could get some," Clark declared, but didn't sound very convinced.

"Right," Lois smiled. "Let's see about that on Monday, okay?" She noticed him tentatively smiling back, and her mask started to slip once more. He positively oozed charm, damn him. And she couldn't really blame him for everything, could she?

She buttoned up her jacket as they crossed the street, the September night being slightly chilly, noting as she did that Clark wasn't wearing anything other than his shirt. "Aren't you cold anyway?" she asked, reaching for his back to test the fabric of his shirt; he was startled by the touch and stopped walking and Lois's hand suddenly met a resistance so hard that it sent a sharp pain through her arm all the way up to her shoulder.

Lois hissed in surprise, "Are you wearing chainmail under there?" She clutched her hand to herself, amazed at how much it throbbed.

Clark was staring at her, "Umm … no?" He said it in a tone of voice that made her feel like an idiot, whether he intended it or not.

"Fine," she snapped, still rubbing her hand; her annoyance towards him was returning with a vengeance. "Let's head back."

He complied in silence, giving Lois a chance to try and order her thoughts. To little avail. They kept going back to him.

There was no denying it. She'd been trying to curb her journalistic instincts but they were too strong. She needed to _somehow_ figure out who he really was. And soon.

oOo

Little had Lois known that there would be some more drama to attend to before anyone could go to sleep. When they'd gotten home Chloe was already lying on her bed, engrossed in some scientific lecture, and Lois had proceeded to get ready for bed herself. Clark was the last one to use the bathroom and Lois just wanted to close her door when she heard strange noises originating from exactly there. She stumbled back into the main room where she met Chloe who seemed equally confused. "What's he doing?" Lois asked, only receiving a shrug in response. Both young women walked over to the bathroom door. "Clark?" Chloe called quietly.

A soft moan was their answer. Lois looked at her cousin. "That doesn't sound good." She reached for the doorknob; at that moment the door opened and Clark stumbled out, falling to the floor right in front of their feet. "What happened?" Lois gasped, automatically crouching down to better see him. "You look bad!" she realized; he was pale and sweaty in the face, like he was suffering from nausea. "What happened?"

He made a weak gesture, "The stone … I forgot about it …"

Lois looked to where he was pointing in the bathroom, her eyes settling on the window sill. "The meteor rock?" She noticed that the thing seemed to be glowing slightly, but she couldn't be sure. "What about it?"

"It makes … me sick." Clark was struggling to get back to his feet, and Lois helped him. "The rock makes you sick?" she repeated. "Oh, right."

Chloe was in the bathroom and inspecting the piece of green rock. "I swear it was glowing a moment ago …"she mumbled, fingering the thing.

Lois dismissed that. "Whatever. Rocks don't make people sick." Clark freed himself of her supportive arms and backed away a couple of feet; the color was slowly returning to his face. He looked hesitantly over to Chloe, "Could you … put that somewhere else?"

"Sure," Chloe shrugged, picked the rock up and put it into the depths of the big closet that stood next to the bathroom door. Lois watched her in bewilderment. "What are you _doing_?" she finally asked.

"You heard Clark, didn't you?" Chloe replied. "This thing hurts him."

Lois stared at the tall young man. "Rocks _don't_ hurt people."

"Are you an expert?" Chloe asked, slightly annoyed. "Okay, Clark, it should be alright now."

But Clark was still hesitating a good distance away from the closet. "Actually," he cleared his throat, "I can still feel it."

"You can _feel_ it?" Chloe asked, eying him in that fascinated scientist sort of way. Lois was starting to be fed up with all of this – for god's sake; she only wanted to go to bed. "Well I'm not going to throw it in the trash," she announced. "That's a trophy, you know. Spoils of war. The meteor rocks used to be scattered everywhere but in recent years Luthorcorp collected all of them to do experiments," she explained to Clark who looked faintly interested. "Anyway, last year I managed to get into one of their labs. It was kind of tedious and the League wasn't very helpful either but in the end I made sure that lab would never do anything illegal anymore … and I took that stone." She wanted to add something along the lines of _Am I good or what?_ but she kept her mouth shut. Clark didn't look all that impressed at her triumph.

"Lois, your stories aren't helping," Chloe said, sounding vaguely exasperated.

"You think sarcasm is better?" Lois retorted. Now why was Chloe siding with Clark?

"Well, it usually gets through to you," Chloe sighed. "I even have some more: Seeing as you've been living in Smallville for the past few years I don't understand how you find it so hard to accept this."

"_This_ meaning that Clark is … allergic to meteor rocks?" Lois chuckled. "I can accept that once I've seen it." She was too tired to decide if her suggestion was inappropriate or mean. Chloe glared at her reproachfully but Clark was already following her not-so-subtle hint and carefully approached the closet, one step after the other. And then it was as if he'd crossed some kind of invisible boundary; he suddenly doubled over and gasped, his legs no longer supporting him, falling down. Definitely no acting. Lois watched in horror. "Clark!"

She dashed to his side and grasped his shoulders, "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have made you do this –" She felt increasingly weak herself as she saw him suffer because of her. "I'm _so_ getting rid of that thing." And she turned words into action, grabbed the meteor rock from the closet, walked to a window and, without any further ado, threw it out into the street.

When she turned back round again she noticed with relief that Clark was getting better already; Chloe was staring at her with a strangely amused expression. "What?" Lois snapped.

"You tossed the rock out of the window," Chloe said, starting to snicker.

"Oh, leave me alone." Lois suddenly had a growing feeling that she'd just made a fool of herself. Glancing at the recovering Clark she added, "And _you_, you're seriously weird." There. That's what they got for annoying an exhausted Lois Lane. She felt Chloe was still smiling smugly at her as she walked back into her bedroom and firmly shut the door.

oOo

It was funny how dreaming sometimes made you see things clearer than they appeared to be in real life. Concerning Lionel, for example. When he'd been small Clark had thought that he knew the man but as he grew up he came to understand that Lionel Luthor was a mystery, someone who didn't reveal his true motivations even to those closest to him. He'd treated Clark as an equal and called him _son_, but only as a sign of affection, and never once had he mentioned that he had a real son, a man named Lex, who lived outside of the world available to Clark. Was he the reason Lionel had visited them less and less over the last years? That he'd seemed more distant and reserved in the time before his death?

That Lionel had kept such vital information from him made Clark wonder how much sincerity there had ever been in their relationship. Particularly considering all that he'd learned so far about how he'd been deceived. It almost seemed as if Lionel had constructed a separate world around Clark, a world of his own design where he could assume the role he wanted, which seemed to have been that of the caring and gracious father.

How wrong it all had been.

Clark's ever growing anger at Lionel somehow found its way into his dream and made it dark, looming, a succession of daunting images pressing themselves into his soul. Then, without warning, a window tore open and suddenly there was light and Clark was overcome with the familiar feeling of floating through empty space, a well-known sensation of unreality that nevertheless always calmed him down.

With that strange sense of memory that was inherent to dreams Clark suddenly remembered Lionel hadn't always called him _Clark_. There had been something else, a long, long time ago.

_Traveler._

What did that mean? Why did it sound so important?

And why did it make him feel like he was waiting for the start of a long journey?

When that long-winded dream-thought was finished Clark realized, all of a sudden, that he was awake. Confused, he opened his eyes to the half-lit room. There was something not right with his perspective. He should be on the couch but he wasn't. Somehow he was _above_ the couch.

In the same instant he realized that he was, inexplicably, floating six feet in the air he was already deep in a panic and, losing all pretense of control or elegance, crashed down into the upholstery with all the force of a falling redwood tree.

And while it didn't hurt it _did_ break the couch.

Numbed and more confused than he'd ever been in his life Clark slowly began to extricate himself from the debris; and just two seconds later the room was flooded with light and Lois, in her white pajamas, hair wild from her sleep, stood in the door.

"What the hell was _that_?" she thundered.

Clark could only stare at her. "I – … I …"

"You _destroyed_ my couch!" Lois yelled. She stormed in to take a closer look at the disaster, hands trembling in dismay.

Chloe also appeared from her bedroom, looking only half awake. "What's all the yelling about?" she slurred, blinking owlishly at the remains of the couch.

"He _destroyed my couch_!" Lois said, pacing up and down in front of the debris. Clark was still sitting in the middle of it. "He – … he _destroyed_ it!"

Chloe walked closer and frowned, "Yeah, I heard you. How did you do that? That thing weighs half a ton." She eyed Clark, who was wishing the ground would open up and swallow him.

"I … I don't know." Hell, he'd been _floating_. "I really don't. I'm … I'm sorry."

Lois glared at him. God, she looked _scary_ when she was furious. "You're so _weird_!" she told him.

"I know," Clark muttered.

The entire surreal experience was making his head throb. He'd been _floating_ and he couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around it. And the fact that he had no idea how he was going to survive any more time with Lois didn't make it easier.

Clark watched her buzz around the room, throwing things here and there while muttering to herself under her breath. Hanging his head he sighed, wondering if life could get any more complicated.

* * *

Okay, this chapter's probably kind of bumpy. Tell me in a review please?

Oh and I know that it's the series finale tomorrow. Have fun watching it and don't be too sad – after all we have fan fiction to continue our own personal Smallville! (As for me, I haven't seen Season 10 yet, except for some Clois scenes on Youtube.)

* * *

Clarkfan325: Thank you.

Cloismycel: Haha, thank you! My birthday was nice, although I feel very old now. Hey, have fun wherever you're going, and I'm already looking forward to what you have to say about any new chapters once you return. The encounter between Lois and Lex's thugs will happen in the next chapter. The events of this chapter and the next one happen in the same night, it's just so much to write that I decided to put it into two chapters. Yes, Clark is lost and confused but as you've seen in this chapter 's also a little twist concerning his accepting who he is etc. … I do love my twists! As always, I can't make any promises as to when I'm going to update next *sigh* ;)

Flounder65: Wow, thank you so much! *blushes* About the rushing through scenes, the truth is that all my chapters so far have turned out to become much longer than I originally planned; getting the characters to where I want them to be just takes time. I hope you continue reading and commenting!

h-g-j-l-e-r-k: Good to know that you're patient, as you see that's a must-have when following my story … anyway I hope you've noticed the Clois progress in this chapter. They'll get there ;)

imhooked: Thanks so much for your thoughts! Ollie will be back. As for Lois, I'm aware that she might seem a little OOC in this chapter but I hope it's understandable. Her life has been a little different in my story but given time she'll become the character we all know again. Anyways, looking forward to hearing more from you soon!

lo-ck4ever: Thank you. There will be more Clois, of course.

LoisNClark4Ever: Thanks for the long review! I'm so sorry that I had to keep you in suspense for so long! As it is, the encounter between Lois and Lex's thugs will happen in the next chapter. Oliver will be back. I'm anxious to read your thoughts on this one ;)

S01litaire90: Hey, don't worry, I'm happy about every single review I get no matter when, and anyway the great quality of your reviews makes up for it ;) Yeah, the relationship between Martha and Jonathan is kind of difficult in my story, also difficult to write but great fun. I'm just trying to sound out just how much devotion exists between them. Jonathan doesn't really know how to react to Clark of course but he's the kind of man that gives everybody a chance. And Lois will realize that she needs to change her attitudes very soon. Looking forward to your next review.

Tempest in Blue: Thank you, you make me happy ;)

* * *

Okay, so I'll have to study A LOT these next few weeks and probably won't update until mid-July. Don't worry - I know where I'm going with this and I'm perfectly willing to continue writing this story as soon as possible. Please bear with me :)


	9. 9: Trapped

Surprise! Now that my two big fat oral exams (whoever invented those!) are over I can finally get back to some writing. It really motivates me that people kept on reading my story even during the hiatus – thank you so much! And I hope my dear reviewers are still out there …

* * *

_9: Trapped_

"Come on Lois. Buck up." Chloe was leaning against the kitchen counter and making coffee. Lois was finding it hard to believe that her cousin could just go on as if nothing had happened. She stopped in her efforts to try and get some tidiness back into the room and confronted Chloe, "I don't want coffee. I want my couch back."

Clark, who'd finally pulled himself off the floor and stood there a little insecurely, took that as a cue, "I'm really sorry this happened, Lois. I'll try to repair your couch."

Lois glared at him. It didn't really work. She was too damn tired and he was too damn adorable as he looked at her with his big blue eyes, like a scared little boy. "Whatever," she muttered, shrugging, and reached for the steaming coffee cup Chloe had put on the counter. She'd just taken her first sip when she suddenly heard her cell phone beep in her bedroom.

"Who sends you texts in the middle of the night?" Chloe asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No idea," Lois replied, which was a lie of course; there were a number of people she could think of who would do just that.

However, as she picked up her phone on her nightstand it turned out that it wasn't Green Arrow who'd texted her, nor any of his cohorts. It was Jeremy, one of the countless errand boys who worked for Metropolis's gangster bosses; and who didn't seem to like his job much, as he'd been occasionally collaborating with Lois for years.

"What is it?" Chloe inquired when Lois strolled back into the main room.

"A hint," Lois replied. "There seems to be something big happening in Suicide Slums right now." Absentmindedly she took her coffee cup again and proceeded to empty it. Afterwards she walked back into her bedroom and closed the door in order to dress.

One minute later Chloe poked her head through the door. "_Lois!_" she called sharply. "You're not doing what I think you're doing, are you?"

"I'm awake anyway," Lois said, shrugging, and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

"You're crazy," Chloe muttered, shaking her head in consternation.

"Thank you," Lois smiled. "That's a desirable quality for a star reporter." With that she swept out of the room to get her jacket and shoes. Chloe was trailing after her like a nervous mother hen, "At least take the pepper spray."

"In my pocket," Lois affirmed. "Please, cuz. I've infiltrated _Luthorcorp_'s high security facilities a couple times. This is _nothing_ in comparison."

"Except you were never alone when you did that," Chloe muttered behind her; Lois chose to ignore her cousin's antics. Grabbing her car keys she left the apartment, heels clicking quickly down the stairs.

oOo

Clark had watched Lois's departure in silence. Chloe stood in the middle of the room, her hands clenched into fists, and seemed to be angry and upset at the same time.

"Do you want me to go after her?" Clark asked after a moment's consideration. Chloe blinked, looking at him as if she wasn't sure who he was for a second. "Would you do that?" she asked, then, forcing herself to smile. "You know, I have no idea why she does these things sometimes. Normally she's not _that_ irresponsible but … oh well. Maybe I'm just telling myself that. But I'm not her mom, for god's sake!" She shook her head, sighing. "Forgive me the rant. I used to be a journalist too, back in High School, you know," she added, more quietly, "and maybe I've just forgotten what it's like."

Clark put his boots on. He heard Lois's car turning into the street below and accelerating.

Chloe had walked to a window and was looking out. "Oh no, I think she's left already," she said.

Clark then heard her turning and asking in a confused voice, "Clark?" He was already down the stairs and through the front doors when he came to a sudden stop and gasped. Hadn't he sworn himself that he wouldn't do this anymore? What if he'd lose control again? What if he'd end up somewhere half across the state and no one knew where to find him?

But Lois was heading for danger. What was more essential here, the risk that she'd get into serious trouble or his own lacking self-confidence?

And hadn't he told himself only a few hours ago that he would try to make the best of what was given to him?

The headlights of Lois's car had just turned the corner as he made a quick decision and braced himself, putting the speed back on.

oOo

She parked the car in an alley next to an ancient boarded-up warehouse. Turning off the engine she leant back in her seat and sighed, running a hand through her ponytail wearily.

_What are you doing, Lane?_

Her coming here had nothing to do with wanting to write an article. If she was honest with herself she knew exactly why she'd left the apartment in such a mad rush. By and large even Lois knew where she had to draw the line. Rushing into Suicide Slums after midnight, on her own? Nope.

Only that tonight she felt she couldn't take it anymore. She needed some space to breathe.

She needed to get away from _him_. From the way he was constantly in her thoughts, from the notion of his beautiful eyes which seemed to be always gazing at her no matter if he was even there, making her shudder inwardly.

He was driving her crazy.

And now he'd somehow destroyed her couch. Lois had been fretting and ranting and calling him weird, but more for her own sake than his. It was obvious that he was sorry about what had happened, and if she remembered correctly she'd been reckoning with something being destroyed all along. Clark was evidently meteor-infected and didn't have complete control over his abilities yet. That wasn't his fault. And while she wasn't ready to forgive him just yet Lois wasn't really angry at him.

Instead, she was angry at herself – for being so needy, for not standing up to her own principles. And she just didn't know what to do. She didn't know if she wanted Clark to leave or to stay close to her.

Her heart jolted when someone knocked their fingers against the car top. There were no streetlamps nearby, and Lois could barely see the slender shape of a man next to her door. "Lane," a voice called. "Don't you wanna get out?"

Lois groaned. It was Jeremy, her contact, waiting impatiently. Hell, she shouldn't have come here. Now it was too late. She once again made sure that the pepper spray was in her pocket and slowly got out.

"Listen, I only have a couple of minutes," she told Jeremy, who was grinning at her in a vaguely strange way.

"That'll be enough," Jeremy said. "They said it won't take much time."

"Who said that?" Lois frowned.

"Them." He pointed into the darkness. Lois's heart jolted once again when she recognized a handful of men closing in on them. All of them wore dark clothes; one had sunglasses.

"Lois Lane," one of the thugs snarled. "Aren't you a pretty one?"

Lois swung around to Jeremy. "You lured me here!" She narrowed her eyes, "How much did they give you?"

He shrugged; he was apparently planning to bundle off. "More than you do."

"Wimp!" she hissed. He was already gone. Lois mentally prepared herself for a fight. She had a lot of confidence in her hand-on-hand combat abilities, but there were five of them. _Five._ Three of them were approaching her directly while the other two were closing in from behind.

Lois was cursing her own stubbornness. _Now look what you've gotten yourself into, Lane. Again._

She never would have told anyone but her heart was beating like crazy, and her hands felt damp. _Clark. This is all your fault!_

But deep inside she knew that wasn't true. _Focus, Lane. Remember what the General always says – the only thing most thugs like more than beating up their victim is listening to said victim squeak. You can take advantage of that._

"What do you want?" she asked, purposefully putting an air of insecurity into her voice.

"We're delivering a message," the goon in sunglasses said.

"From who?" Lois inquired.

"Our boss," said the goon. "He wants you to know that he doesn't appreciate your … _work_."

"Let me guess." Sarcasm slipped into Lois's voice. "Your boss is a little bald around the ears."

Another thug, who was a little on the short side, wrinkled his nose. "You've been invading his facilities," he declared. "That's illegal."

"What about attacking innocent women in the streets, you think that's lawful?" Lois countered.

"Ah, but there's a flaw in your argument," the sunglasses-type said. "You aren't innocent."

"As you say," Lois acceded. She raised her head, "But there's five of you. I'm flattered that you think I'm so capable."

The short gangster frowned. "We're not supposed to let her talk," he stated. "The boss said."

"Really?" another one asked. "I'm enjoying it immensely."

The short one turned around to him. "Last time we let her talk, she got away," he explained, grinding his teeth. "Let's get this over with."

"What are you gonna do?" Lois asked. Her stance and her voice were slowly losing some of their strength, and there was nothing she could do. "You can't kill me."

"Can't we?" the man in sunglasses replied. "Tell me why not?"

"People will be missing me," Lois said, hesitating just a little. "And you … you really don't want to mess with my father." Argh. That was just dumb. Damn it, she was getting closer to squeaking, wasn't she?

"Guys, I think she's talking about General Lane," a skinny man said, grinning. "Mr. Luthor's good friend."

Lois snorted. "That's a lie." Too late. She hadn't paid attention for a moment and suddenly a fist connected with her backbone from behind, pushing her forward and making her stumble. The short thug caught her and aimed for her chest; Lois reacted at the last moment and ducked, so the fist met with her left shoulder instead. It hurt – a lot – and Lois hissed in pain. The goons sneered in satisfaction.

"Aha!" the sunglasses said cheerfully, "let's see if we can't make you scream." He stepped forward and Lois backed away. They wanted to make her scream? That didn't sound good. What did they mean by that?

She assumed a combat position, making the goons _ahh_ in anticipation. "Aren't you a naughty girl?" the short one commented, apparently very eager to get the proper fight started.

"You have no idea," Lois answered, aiming for his face so fast he couldn't react. Her fist slammed onto his nose and when her fingers retracted his blood was on them.

He groaned and glared at her, "You bitch!" He glanced at his companions, "Did you see what she did?"

"Indeed, and I'm impressed," the sunglasses replied. "But it's getting late. Time to get down to business."

With that, the five of them closed the circle and Lois suddenly found herself being pushed around between them, like she was some kind of doll without a will of her own. Anger boiled to the surface and Lois surprised everyone when she began to distribute kicks and blows, focusing all her energy on her escape. She hit knees and shoulders and chins and chests and she started sweating profoundly and her hair came loose, but there was no denying it. She was trapped, and she couldn't overcome her attackers.

She was all alone. The men were laughing at her.

It was hopeless.

The moment this realization hit was when Lois started to be really afraid. And the moment when sunglasses threw her into a puddle on the floor, pinned her down with all his weight and began to yank at the clasp of her jeans was when her fear abruptly turned into an icy kind of horror that froze her down to the bone.

She didn't have more time than one or two seconds, however, to experience this dreadful feeling of utter defeat. Just as she struggled against sunglasses' hands, trying to kick between his legs with as much force as she could muster, a shadow crashed into her attacker and pushed him violently to the ground. The back of the sunglasses' head connected with the asphalt and he blacked out at once, while his assailant disappeared as quickly as he'd come. Lois remained lying down for a moment, drawing deep breaths, her heart still racing. What just happened?

She finally managed to sit up and looked around for the person who'd helped her. The four remaining goons were standing around her, equally astonished, whispering among themselves. One of them suddenly drew a gun. Most of the surroundings lay in complete darkness; the unknown assailant could be anywhere.

One goon had seized Lois's arm and was holding her. Still, the smallest semblance of optimism was stirring in her chest. _Has to be the League_, Lois thought. _Took them long enough!_

"Has to be one of them capes," the short thug said. "Watch out!" Everybody was waiting. Now there were already two guns pointing into the darkness, fingers on the triggers. The tension in the air was all but palpable. _Be careful, whoever you are_, Lois thought, her throat dry. As far as she knew, none of the League was completely immune to bullets.

Then, that same dark-clad shadow appeared out of nowhere and slammed into the short thug with so much momentum that the man was thrown back several yards and ended up in a brick wall; he slid to the ground and didn't move anymore. The attacker didn't wait for the goons to finish being amazed but was already confronting the next one – the man who was holding Lois's arm; Lois stumbled as the thug was hurled into the back of the alley where he landed crumpled in a heap, blissfully unconscious.

"Lois?" someone asked suddenly, and Lois couldn't believe her ears. That voice. "_Clark?_" No. Impossible. Clark was in Smallville being annoying. He couldn't be here in Suicide Slums playing hero. Saving her. No.

"Are you alright?" He appeared in front of her, his face a little flushed, blue-green eyes shining. It was definitely him. Lois's head was suddenly full of questions. _How did you get here? What are you even doing, and how are you doing it? Why did you follow me? Why are you helping me? Why …?_

She didn't ask a single one of them. "Watch out, Clark!" she called instead. "They've got guns!"

Clark listened to her warning and vanished out of sight – literally; one fraction of a second he was there, the next he was gone. How did that work? – just as a gunshot cracked through the alley, the bullet whizzing past Lois's head, making her gasp.

When she'd gotten her breath back she began crawling off in the direction of her car; no one seemed to mind her anymore anyway. When she reached the driver's door she looked back for Clark; she couldn't just leave him here, could she?

She saw him appearing behind one of the two gun men, hitting him over the head in a blow that wasn't very elegant but effective. Lois stretched her neck so she could watch better, but unexpectedly someone seized her around the waist from behind, and breathed hotly into her ear, "Hey, pretty girl. Where are you off to?" Lois started to writhe and suddenly felt something in her jacket pocket, pressed against her skin. The pepper spray! She'd completely forgotten about it.

She got her arm free and pulled the spray out, aiming it wildly over her shoulder. Apparently she'd found her target, as the grip around her waist loosened and the goon started moaning and wailing. Lois spun round and sprayed even more of it into his face until he sagged to the ground. Her next thought was, _Clark_. She spotted him close by, facing off the second gunman. The gun was pointed straight at Clark's chest.

Lois didn't think before she spoke, "Hey there! Lookie!" The gunman's gaze flicked over to her and Clark moved, knocking the gun out of the thug's hand. The same instant, the gun went off. Lois winced in shock when the bullet embedded itself into the metal of her car right next to her shoulder.

Clark was suddenly crouching by her side, looking as shaken as Lois felt, "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she grumbled, weirdly annoyed by his concern and the complete and utter _craziness_ of it all.

Clark was mumbling, "I _saw_ it … but …"

"What are you going on about?" Lois interrupted. "And why didn't you tell me you're Speedy Gonzales?"

"_Who_?" Clark replied, perplexed.

"Never mind," Lois sighed. She was about to start asking her million questions when Clark's soft voice cut through her thoughts, "I don't know why I did this."

Lois gazed at him; she was noticing more and more her own sorry wet and dirty state of being, and her annoyance was increasing quickly. "Did what? Take care of those thugs?"

"I hurt them," Clark muttered.

Lois frowned at him. She didn't get what he was worrying about. "Yeah, and I'm grateful for that," she said. "I mean, not about the hurting part, but that you got rid of them. I know I'm really bad at expressing gratitude but I have to say I'm –"

"I shouldn't have done it," Clark cut her short. "It was so easy."

"It looked easy, yeah," Lois agreed. "By the way, how did you –" All of a sudden she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. The gun-less gunman whom Clark had regrettably neglected to knock out had crept up on them, and he'd drawn a knife. It was a large knife too.

"Clark, watch out!" Lois yelled in a shrill voice, but the knife was already descending upon Clark's back in a vicious blow – and glanced off, the blade splintering in two. The pieces fell to the ground with a clank, followed by Lois's and the goon's bewildered stare.

"What the f –" the thug began before he was knocked down by Clark in an almost gentle move. Immediately after that Clark got up and started to walk away, his expression withdrawn.

"Clark, wait!" Lois shouted distractedly, but her eyes kept being drawn to the shards of the knife. How did this happen? If she was honest with herself she was beginning to doubt her own sanity. If she'd only stayed home … Too late.

"Clark!" She got to her feet and started stumbling in the direction where Clark had disappeared in the darkness. What was he doing – he couldn't very well leave her alone in the middle of Suicide Slums, again?

Or she him, for that matter.

She flinched when she suddenly heard her cell phone ring in her pocket and pulled it out, reading a message from Chloe who wanted to know if Lois was still alive. Lois smiled. Of course Chloe had waited up. _Barely. U should have come_, was her reply. She sent it, then hurried along again and almost crashed into Clark where he stood at a corner, waiting for her.

His face showed a strange mixture of expectance and insecurity. Lois wasn't sure how to interpret it. "Are you okay?" she asked suspiciously.

"No," he answered quietly, and eyed her from the side. "I don't think I did the right thing."

Lois snorted. "Look, Clark, this isn't about moral principles. This is about protecting people! I don't think the vigilantes would be half as successful if they pondered all their actions beforehand and after."

"I'm no vigilante."

"Well, you did a pretty convincing job there." She tilted her head, "How did you even find me?"

Clark shrugged, "I heard you." He started to walk away once more and Lois hastened after him, "Wait! Don't run away! You have to answer my questions!"

He stopped so abruptly that Lois nearly crashed into him again. As it was, she put one hand on his arm and eyed him intently, "Who _are_ you?"

He gazed at her like she was crazy. "You know who I am." With that, he walked on.

"No no, I don't know anything." Lois hurried to keep up with him. "I don't understand how you could turn from a weirdo into a hero _overnight_!"

Clark only shot her a glance and didn't reply.

Lois shook her head and continued, out of breath, "You know what? I don't believe your story anymore! That you were a Luthorcorp guard who … who's been living under a rock! That was a facade, wasn't it? You were lying!" She started to talk more quickly now that she was in her element, "Right? You were a meteor freak all along! What did you do on that farm? Were you a prisoner too? Oh my god!" She stopped dead in her tracks. "You _said_ you were a prisoner, didn't you?" Her heart pounded with excitement as she recalled the night before.

Clark apparently wasn't paying attention. Lois hurried to catch up with him again. "Hey, I'm sorry I didn't listen to you," she said, briefly remembering her good manners. "Do you hear me? I'm _sorry_."

No reaction.

She narrowed her eyes, "What did the Luthors do to you?"

He sighed. "Nothing. I told you I'm the wrong person if you're out to demonize them."

Lois clenched her fists. Why did he have to be so stubborn? He would probably make a good reporter.

And he just didn't stop walking. "Where are you _going_?" Lois shouted. "My car is the other way!"

Why was he running away from her? Lois groaned in frustration. She suddenly realized it was after one in the morning, and it was cold, and she was traversing Suicide Slums.

What a crazy night.

And Clark had rescued her. She still couldn't wrap her head around that. And it was _so unfair_.

She'd come here precisely so she didn't have to see him anymore, so she could hopefully stop thinking about him for a while. And then he had to go and save her.

He of all people! It was so _confusing_.

So far she'd been avoiding to think of what could have happened hadn't Clark arrived in time. But if she was honest with herself things probably wouldn't have ended prettily. She was damn lucky. She should be angry with herself for diving headfirst into danger again – and she was – and she should be more than a little grateful to Clark. _Never forget to pay your debts._ She wasn't sure if it was the General who'd said it, but even so she abruptly decided it was a good moment to adhere to that rule.

Maybe it wasn't fair, but it was a fact that Clark _had_ saved her, for better or for worse.

It was also a fact that deep inside she knew that she couldn't just let him go. As if nothing had happened.

"Stop," she said.

No response whatsoever, of course.

Lois hesitated a split second; then, "Stop. _Please._"

The _please_ was halfhearted, but it brought Clark to a halt, and he slowly turned around to her. "Why?"

Lois had managed to surprise him. It was suddenly difficult to keep her smile from turning into a grin. "'Cause I want to hug you," she said.

And she did.

oOo

A figure in a dark green hood, perched on a rooftop nearby, watched as the young woman and man hugged, the latter reacting stiffly as if he hadn't expected the gesture at all. The woman, who looked slightly wet and frayed around the edges, squeezed the shoulders of the surprised man for a lengthy moment, saying something which couldn't be heard across the distance and to which the man didn't reply.

Green Arrow shook his head, grinning to himself, "How do you keep finding these guys, Lois Lane?"

He knew from personal experience that Lois Lane was an exceptional woman and an excellent journalist, and she had a talent for getting her stories. But when he'd assisted her in infiltrating that facility last night, and had met that young man for the first time, he'd never have expected … well, _this_.

"Pretty impressive, Clark," Green Arrow muttered. "Who would have thought?"

He'd been busy with a mugging a couple of blocks away. When he'd heard the tumult he'd raced to the alleged victim's aid as quickly as he could, only to discover that it was none other than Lois – and that someone was already helping her. He'd watched in amazement as that same young man who'd seemed so insecure the night before had easily taken care of all the thugs like some kind of hurricane. As silly as that comparison was, it described the scene pretty accurately. What surprised the Arrow even more was that after everything was done Clark seemed to have doubts about his actions and Lois was needed to convince him otherwise.

The Arrow had been observing the two of them for almost half an hour, Lois's rant and Clark's silence. Now, at last, they seemed to have found some sort of accord; they turned around and started walking back in the direction they'd come, Clark always one step behind Lois.

Green Arrow got up from his perch and slowly retreated into the shadows. He'd definitely keep an eye on the developments; crime in Metropolis was always on the rise, and every potential candidate was worth the effort.

He smiled as he pulled out his cell phone. There were a number of people who would want to hear about this.

oOo

"You weren't very … surprised to see me … do what I did," Clark said when they were finally seated in Lois's car and driving back to Smallville.

Lois was thankful for his remark because it stopped her from pondering that hug and how _good_ it had felt.

"I've been living in Smallville for a while," she answered.

Clark only looked at her, frowning. Lois smiled, "Right! I forgot that you've been out of the picture. You know that as boring as Smallville is, it _is_ the world capital of meteor infections. Those people tend to get into trouble after a while, and then they're collected by either Luthorcorp or Belle Reeve – that nice psychiatric 'clinic' which we just passed," she pointed at a complex of massive buildings fading into the darkness on the left hand side. "Anyway, I've come across a number of talented … individuals in my time. Plus, Chloe works with meteor-infected youths of course, to prevent them from snapping. She's pretty good at it too. Do you understand now?"

Clark nodded in silence. Lois shrugged, "Believe me, the only thing that would _maybe_ still surprise me, and which I haven't seen yet, is someone who can fly." She was eying Clark and noticed a shadow of something pass quickly over his face; she couldn't be sure it had really been there.

"Fly? Well, that's kind of unlikely, isn't it?" he commented with the tiniest tremble in his voice.

"Is it?" Lois raised an eyebrow. "More unlikely than your speedy thing?" She frowned a little, "Come to think of it, you're the first meteor-infected I hear about who has several unrelated abilities. I mean, the speed and the strength? Not to forget what happened to the knife –"

"You're _not_ writing about me," Clark said dryly.

Lois rolled her eyes. "I won't," she confirmed. "But this is important!"

"Why is it important?" Clark replied. "So long as I don't damage anymore of your stuff –"

"Yeah, about that," Lois put in. "Whatever happened to my couch?"

Clark was staring out the window. "I don't know."

Lois sighed. "Fine. I'll stop pestering you, because you saved me and all that." _For now._ She concentrated on driving for a while but noticed that Clark kept glancing at her from the side. "Well?" she asked.

"Can I ask something?" he inquired softly.

"Sure."

"Who were those men?"

Lois smirked. _Finally he asks. _"They were Lex Luthor's."

A short pause, then, "What did you do to him?"

"Told people the truth about him." Lois shrugged. "He seems to think I'm trying to expose him. His evil doings. And you know what? He's right. I do."

Clark thought for a moment. "And he just sends some goons to assault you?"

Lois shrugged again. "He's Lex Luthor. He can do that."

Clark leaned back in his seat, "Do you think he'll try it again?"

Lois smiled, "Probably. But next time I'll be prepared."

Clark was still looking at her. She could practically feel his eyes on her even though she was focusing on the road. "You're very confident," Clark remarked.

"So are you, when it comes to the point," Lois replied, then hesitated; was that a compliment? Had she just complimented him? Oops.

Clark kindly ignored her reply. "You shouldn't provoke Lex Luthor anymore if it's so dangerous," he said.

Lois smiled. _So now he's turning into the voice of reason?_ "It's my job," she answered. "I can't be afraid on my job."

"But you _were_ afraid," Clark said. "Those men almost –"

"I'm willing to take my chances," Lois interrupted him before he could elaborate on his observations. "And anyway I have _you_ now, right?" She turned into the alley next to the Talon and slowed the car down.

Clark's face darkened. "I'm not going to do _that_ again."

"We'll see about that, Clark," Lois said, turning the engine off. "We'll see."

oOo

Chloe was expecting them at the door. She hadn't been able to go back to sleep, of course, and had been strolling around the apartment for the past one and a half hours feeling like some sixty-year old mother hen. It was silly really. And yet she couldn't help a deep sigh of relief when Lois finally climbed up the stairs, followed by Clark.

"Everything alright?" Chloe asked in a hurry and noticed that same moment that Lois's clothes were wet and her hair wild and slightly dirty, as if she'd been lying on the ground at some point. "What happened?"

Lois walked past her and straight to the table where she sank down on a chair. "Lex Luthor happened," she said. "Oh. And then Clark happened, too. Although," she frowned, "no, that doesn't sound right, 'cause Clark actually helped me make Luthor's thugs un-happen. Umm." She looked around the kitchen. "Is there still coffee left?"

Clark had sat down on another chair, apparently content with listening. Chloe glanced at him. So it _had_ been a good idea that he'd gone after Lois. She didn't want to think about the consequences if she'd kept him from following her.

_Lois._ Really, sometimes one could get the impression that she was out to get herself killed.

"Want to tell me the story?" she asked her cousin, who'd poured herself a cup of coffee by now.

Lois agreed and began to talk about the trap that had been laid for her. She used her typical colorful style of description and didn't leave out many details, as it seemed – although she did get a little vague when depicting what exactly Clark had done – but Chloe, educated in these things as she was, noticed quickly that all was not alright. Lois was hiding something. She'd probably managed to keep her façade up for so long as she'd been out there – maybe she hadn't even realized herself that she wasn't as unaffected as she pretended to be. But as soon as she'd returned to the safety of the apartment had something in her begun to tremble. The longer Chloe watched her, the more obvious it became.

"Lois, are you sure you're okay?" Chloe asked gently.

Lois snorted. "Of course I am. I'm Lois Lane." And then suddenly her voice cracked, and she stood up and made for her bedroom in haste. Clark, surprised, got to his feet. "What –"

"It's alright," Chloe calmed him down. "I'm going to talk with her." She left him standing there and went to follow Lois, closing the door behind them. "Lois?"

Lois was sitting on the bed, face hidden in the semidarkness. Her sobbing was very quiet; she was clearly trying to hold it back.

Chloe sat next to her. "Hey. Not so okay after all, huh?"

Lois shrugged. "I don't know why I'm crying now," she confessed amidst sobs. "It's just … when I came back here I … for the first time I understood how narrow my escape was. It's like I didn't see it before."

"Adrenaline can do that," Chloe said softly. She put her arms around her cousin's shoulders. "Even one Lois Lane will need time to work through an experience like that."

"That one guy …" Lois mumbled, "he almost - … I must have been crazy." She shook her head and swallowed. "And I … I still don't understand why he did that. Why he got me out of there."

"Clark?" Chloe asked, frowning.

Lois suddenly started to cry anew. "Why did he even come? I don't deserve him … I don't deserve his help."

"Man, those thugs have really gotten to you, haven't they," Chloe remarked quietly. "Why are you saying that? Why shouldn't you deserve his help?"

Lois inhaled deeply. "He doesn't even know me. And I don't know him." She turned her pale teary face to Chloe, "I feel so bad that … I ran away because of _him_," she confessed. "I was so annoyed! And then _he_ has to come and save me! Why him?"

"That's life," Chloe replied lightly. It did seem to help Lois though, who suddenly smiled. "You know, in the car I told him that I wasn't afraid of Luthor, or anyone else," she said. "But actually … sometimes it's hard being me."

"That's why there's only one Lois Lane – no one else has the energy," Chloe said. "By the way, you shouldn't be telling me all that. You should be hugging Clark and talking with him. As thanks."

Lois wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I already did that," she answered softly. "Hug him."

"You didn't mention!" Chloe protested.

Lois ignored her; instead she stretched and yawned. "Gawd. I'm dead tired."

Chloe got to her feet and glanced at Lois's alarm clock. It was nearly three in the morning. "So I take it you're better now?" she asked her patient.

Lois smiled wryly. "I guess. Thanks, Doctor Sullivan."

Satisfied that she'd done all she could, Chloe left, eager for her own bed and sleep.

oOo

Ten minutes later Lois was snuggled into her blankets and tried to find sleep. They'd put Clark on an old air mattress, seeing as the couch was unusable, and everything was quiet now, the room dim and gray. And slowly, very slowly, Lois's mind was calming down too.

She knew that there would be more trouble in the future. She knew that Luthor wouldn't give up so quickly, and neither would she, of course. Hell, in her own weird way she was possibly even looking forward to it.

And there was Clark to consider. She'd made a decision. She'd give him another chance. Because he was nice, probably, and because it wasn't his fault that he was so hard to resist.

It was unfair, yes it was, but somehow Lois knew that it was also a waste of time to deny it all. She was interested in him and she even liked being in his company.

And maybe, just maybe that wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

So what do you think? Was this chapter even readable? Somehow I have the impression that it's all over the place but I'm not sure how to improve it. (Anyway I promise the next update won't take another two months.)

* * *

clarkfan325: Thanks, as always.

h-g-j-l-e-r-k: I know. Lois gets better in this chapter though, doesn't she?

imhooked: I'm sorry, you'll have to wait for that ;) But I agree about the show. Thanks for reviewing.

LoisNClark4Ever: Wow, good that you liked the scene with Jonathan and the goons, I found it difficult to write. Anyway, as I already mentioned I'm not so sure about this chapter, let's see what you think. I hope you're still out there. And I know what you mean with the good parts. My story advances really slowly, I know, and there's a lot of talk and introspection but I want to keep it on a realistic level (as far as realistic goes in a fantasy story), and you have to remember that Lois and Clark have only known each other for twenty-four hours so far ;)

Morningdew-1: Wow, thank you so much! *blushes* And I'm so sorry you had to wait for so long, RL got in the way. I hope you'll still continue reading!

reeven: Muchas gracias ;) Me alegro de que tengas tanto entusiamo por mi historia! Saludos a México ;)

VanishingPoint: Thank you so much, and especially for pointing out the character voices. I'm never entirely sure if I manage to capture them ;) As it is an AU some of them are slightly OOC, I know, but that will change in the course of the story. I hope you'll keep on reading!


	10. 10: On the job

Dear readers, I hope I'm surprising you with a relatively quick update (somehow I felt really bad about leaving you hanging for two months, so I've hurried up). This chapter is a bit on the short side, and more lightweight than the previous ones, but I hope you have fun reading!

* * *

_10: On the job_

"And this is the copy room," Lois said as she led Clark to the back of the busy _Daily Planet_ bullpen. "Rule number eight; don't go in there when the door is closed. You don't want to know what's happening behind closed doors. Ever."

Clark was nodding and obediently trailed after Lois when she slowly returned to her work desk. "What are rules one to seven?" he asked, then. He stood next to Lois as she sat down in her chair.

"Oh, right!" Lois smiled broadly. "Well, it's not like you're a reporter or anything, but here, have a look." She opened a drawer in her desk and handed Clark a slip of paper which was covered in her own scraggy writing.

Clark's eyes ran over it. "Right," he said, dragging out the word. "You really put your mind to this, didn't you?"

Lois narrowed her eyes at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Before Clark could answer a man's voice cut into their talk, "Hey, Lane, I'm not paying you for being lazy." Lois looked up, suppressing a groan. Her editor had turned up at the corner and was giving her an annoyed look, arms crossed. "And who's he?"

Lois glanced at Clark. Good question. "I brought him along so he could have a look," she said, a little slowly. "He's a … friend."

"Interested in reporting, are you?" the editor asked Clark, who had the good grace to blush and drawl, "Umm –"

"You can have _a look_, as long as you don't slow anybody down," the editor decreed, turned around and walked back to his office, reaching for his cell phone as he went.

"And _that_," Lois said, pointing at the man's back, "was the supreme ruler of the _Planet_. You don't want to break ruler number two, so don't get in his way."

She noticed that Clark was smiling rather smugly, and frowned at him suspiciously, "What's with your face?"

Clark cleared his throat, "You said I was a _friend_."

Lois almost jumped out of her seat, "Don't get bold with me! You're not – … you're only here so you don't break anything at home while I'm not there! That's all!"

How dare he? He should be grateful that she'd allowed him to come along. It didn't have anything to do with the nature of their relationship.

"It was _you_ who suggested I should come," Clark reminded her calmly. "I didn't want to offend you."

Lois sighed, dismissing the issue with a wave of her hand. She reached for her computer mouse and opened the word processor where a half-finished article was waiting. "Whatever. I have to get some stuff done until the deadline. I suppose you can sit down somewhere and look like you're interested. Or you can go outside and have a walk around Metropolis. I don't really care, you're a grown-up person after all," she added, irritated already. And it was only half past ten.

She'd started working later than usual because she and Clark had gone shopping first thing in the morning to get him a couple of decent clothes and some shoes. The trip hadn't ended well for Lois's wallet. She still couldn't believe she'd spent so much money for _him_ of all people. The sort of hold he was beginning to have on her was slightly creepy, wasn't it?

And now this. She should have known it was a bad idea to let Clark come to the _Planet_.

She wasn't looking at him but she couldn't help listening when he replied to her complaints in a soft voice, "Don't worry Lois, you don't have to look after me when you don't want to." He was standing right behind her now and watched her scroll through the article. "I've spent my whole life alone most of the time, and I'm fine."

Lois stopped scrolling, stretching her neck, "Are you sure you don't want to go for a walk or something, then?"

He wasn't listening. He was bending over her and pointing at the computer monitor. "There's a … a typo."

Lois stared at the article in disbelief. "What? Where?"

"Here. You wrote _doomed_ instead of _deemed_." He pointed with his finger and Lois quickly pushed his hand away, "No touching the screen!"

"Sorry, Lois."

Lois sighed deeply. As a matter of fact, she _was_ doomed.

oOo

Chloe was standing at the window in her office at _Isis_, enjoying a mug of cappuccino while she waited for her next patient to arrive. It was a nice sunny morning and she was looking forward to the week, especially to Wednesday when she and Jimmy were planning to try out a newly opened restaurant. If she was honest with herself she was also fairly interested to see what would become of mysterious Clark and his rather weird relationship with Lois.

She was surprised when the landline phone on her desk suddenly started ringing; Jimmy, and those of her patients who trusted her enough to call at all, usually used the cell.

She put the mug away and answered, "Hello?"

"Hi, Miss Sullivan. It's Martha Kent."

"Hi Mrs. Kent!" Chloe sat on the edge of her desk. "How can I help you?"

"It's about Clark," Martha said. She sounded calm, her voice quiet. "I wanted to ask how he is, and what he's doing …"

"He's alright, Mrs. Kent," Chloe assured her. "And you won't believe it, but Lois took him to work with her and apparently he's getting involved in journalism!"

"Really?" Martha clearly was surprised.

"Yeah!" Chloe couldn't help grinning. "Lois sent me a text a while ago – he's helping her write articles."

Martha chuckled into the phone. "That's rather … unexpected," she said.

"I believe it may be useful for Clark, though," Chloe replied. "I mean, being surrounded by normal society, working on tasks, I think that could help him stabilize his … personality."

"About that." Martha cleared her throat and hesitated a moment. "How is it coming along? How is he … handling …"

"His abilities?" Chloe supplied. "I'm not sure. He seems to be okay with them, and he definitely helped Lois the other night. I'm afraid I can't tell you exactly _what_ he did, since both of them have been kind of … vague about it. Weird, that," she smiled. "Usually Lois never minces her words when it comes to people with abilities."

"Maybe she doesn't know how to deal with him," Martha said, sounding doubtful.

Chloe thought she knew what Martha was alluding to – Clark represented something new and remarkable, he wasn't like the meteor-infected that she or Lois had come across so far. But she had her own suspicions. "I think he's made an impression on her," Chloe explained. "And Lois didn't expect that. It has turned the matter into one of moral significance, and now she doesn't know how to reconcile her curiosity and ambition with her conscience." She chuckled, "They'll be fine."

Martha was laughing quietly. "I see I don't need to worry so much," she said. "It seems he's in better hands with you and your cousin than he could ever be in mine."

"Well –" Chloe began, intent on convincing Mrs. Kent that those relationships shouldn't be compared, but she was interrupted. "There's something else, Miss Sullivan." All of a sudden, Martha's voice was tense.

"Yes?" Chloe asked warily.

"Lex Luthor." Martha swallowed. "He … he seems to be very keen on finding Clark."

"Lex Luthor?" Chloe frowned. "What does Lex Luthor have to do with Clark?"

Martha heaved a sigh. "He shouldn't even know about him," she said. "But somehow he does, and now he wants to find him. And I'm sure you're aware of Luthor's ruthless methods."

"Of course." Chloe considered telling Martha that it had been Luthor's thugs, in fact, who'd attacked Lois two nights ago – what a weird coincidence – but she decided against it.

"My husband and I are trying to put him off," Martha went on, "but … it's not so easy."

Chloe suppressed a groan. Just when she thought that it was enough having to deal with a cousin who had a knack for getting into trouble every other day, and now having to handle a stranger who was only just discovering his powers as well, she had to find out that things were even more complicated.

"Luthor can never have Clark," Martha said gravely. "Never. I … I know I'm asking for a lot." She paused for a long minute. "I just thought I had to warn you. You and your cousin."

"Thanks," Chloe said, and knew she sounded weak. She was already agonizing over how she could get these things through to Lois. "Do you want me to tell Clark to call you or something? Do you want to see him?"

"I'll leave it to him," Martha answered tiredly. "I'm not sure where we stand at the moment."

"Okay." After they'd said goodbye, Chloe still sat there staring at the phone in her hand, wondering how much an aspiring reporter and a contentious psychologist could possibly do against one Lex Luthor. Then again, Chloe definitely wasn't one to give up early, and neither was Lois; and anyway Chloe knew from experience that challenges usually brought out the best in people.

She was already smiling again as she got up from her seat, glanced at the file that was opened on her computer and then walked to the door to call her next patient in.

oOo

The bullpen was a busy place on the best of days, but today it was like every employee in the whole wide _Daily Planet_ building found some reason to come down to the basement. Every female employee, that was. And all of them were ogling Clark.

_Really, as if they've never seen another man before_, Lois thought. "Who's your new partner, Lois?" some blonde woman asked when Lois walked past. "I've never seen him here before."

Lois shot her a sharp glance. "Well, one thing he surely isn't, and that's a _partner_," she replied. "You can ask him yourself."

None of them would, she knew. It was so much more exciting to gossip and talk behind backs and swoon and start rumors. It was like kindergarten.

Despite Lois's initial suspicions, Clark, as it seemed, had actually noticed the attention. "Are you _sure_ it's alright that I'm here?" he'd asked her. Lois had grinned. "Yeah. The editor said so, true? And for example, a couple of months ago, one of my co-workers brought his dog to work because his sitter was sick or something. No one said anything. The dog was there all day and nobody bothered. So I figure it's alright to bring _you_."

Clark had stared at her and Lois had practically heard what he was thinking – Did she just compare me to a _dog_? But he hadn't said anything. That had been nearly an hour ago, and in the meantime the female parade along the aisle had abated somewhat, and Clark had found a new focal point.

"Do you want coffee, too? Clark?" Lois nudged his shoulder when he didn't react. He'd been sitting in her chair for the last quarter of an hour, intently hammering into the computer keyboard, his eyes fixed on the monitor. Lois still had no idea why she'd given in to his suggestion to let him write a short note about a party which had been organized through Facebook and gotten out of hand, resulting in the partial destruction of half a dozen backyards and three people hurt.

"I'm talking with you, Clark," Lois said. "Hey!"

He finally stopped writing and looked up, "Sorry. I had to finish that sentence. I think it's done."

"Send it to print, and let's have a look at it," Lois answered lightly. She turned round and walked over to the coffee machine, scrunching up her face all the while. She must be crazy to let him do this. It wasn't like he'd ever expressed any kind of interest in writing articles before. Actually it was interesting that he even knew how to compose a coherent text; if what he said about his life was true, he'd never gone to school after all.

She put two steaming cups of coffee on her desk, then went over to where the printer stood and picked up Clark's short piece. She started reading it while walking back to her desk and reached for her red marker, smiling.

"So bad?" Clark asked, looking at her.

"Oh you know, just a thing here and there …" Lois started circling and crossing out words but before she could tell Clark something about his lack of skill an unexpected visitor addressed her. "How come the woman in front of me always looks full of herself?" a male voice said.

Lois rolled her eyes and glared at the visitor, "I could say the same about the man in front of _me_."

She crossed her arms and sat down on the edge of her desk. The man standing there wore casual but clearly expensive clothes and a very broad smile. "Only doing it because it works on the women," he replied smugly. "And I don't care how much you hate seeing me, _I_ actually think it's nice to see _you_ again, Lois Lane."

"Then why did it take you so long?" Lois snapped. "It's been _months_!"

"Calm down," the blonde man said. "Queen Industries doesn't head itself, you know. There were a couple of things I had to take care of."

Lois sighed, then waved at Clark, who'd been following the conversation in curious silence. "Clark, this is Oliver Queen. Oliver, this is Clark."

Clark nodded a little tentatively, "Hi."

Oliver gazed at Clark, then back at Lois. "Lois, I must confess, that Armani shirt there looks alarmingly familiar."

Lois took a glance at Clark; he wore the dark blue shirt from Saturday. "There was a young man at your home who was very helpful," she shrugged.

Oliver frowned. Clark looked from him to Lois and back. "I can return it –" he began, but Oliver quickly waved that off, "No no, keep it. I mean, I have no idea why you needed it in the first place, but it's not like I don't have other shirts."

Lois tilted her head. "What do you want, Ollie?"

"Oh you know, the usual. I want to annoy you, keep you from your work …" He looked over at Clark again. "Are you new here, Clark? I don't think I've seen you before."

"Well, Metropolis is a big city," Lois said before Clark had a chance to mess things up.

Oliver grinned. "I was talking about the _Daily Planet_, Lois."

_Oh, right._ "He doesn't exactly work here," Lois replied. "He's just … getting a taste of the job."

"And he can't talk for himself?" Oliver asked. "She's always so possessive, isn't that right Clark?"

Clark blinked, "Umm … yeah. She is."

Lois glared at him in disbelief. _Oh thanks, Clark._

"Anyway – Clark, if you ever need to get away from her, or need help with anything, be sure to give me a call." He handed Clark a simple business card, then pulled an organizer out of his pocket and glanced at it. "Right, I got to go. See ya soon."

"Not too soon, I hope," Lois mumbled when Oliver retreated through the bustling bullpen and was gone. She glanced at Clark, who was fingering Oliver's card. "I wonder why he gave you that," she said. "What does he want with you?"

"Hmm." Clark frowned. "Who is he?"

Lois sighed, running a hand through her ponytail. "Oliver Queen. He and I, we were … well. It was years ago. Now he's a … friend … or at least that's what he wants us to be, but the thing is that he's always somewhere else when I happen to need him." She shrugged. "Comes with being a millionaire, I guess." _God, I'm starting to sound all nostalgic._ She shook her head and got to her feet. "Doesn't matter anyway," she told Clark. "Come on, get started on revising your article, will you? I'll be back in a moment."

She left him sitting there and went to the bathroom, where she leaned against the wall and took a battered calendar out of her pocket. She skimmed to a page which was titled _Clark: observations_. It contained a list of all the weird stuff she'd noticed about him so far; most of the entries had question marks. She didn't consider the list as research but rather as an attempt to stay on top of things. Since Clark was there some of the boundaries Lois had structured her life with didn't seem all that rigid anymore.

She left that page and skimmed through the next few weeks in the calendar, hoping against all odds that she'd have a date sometime soon, one that she'd somehow forgotten about. Talking with Oliver had reminded her of the fact that she hadn't had one in over a year – and no, nothing was scheduled for the next weeks either, nothing at all.

It was pathetic.

She put the calendar away again and glanced at the mirror to check her face. All was fine.

She returned to her desk and watched Clark finish the second draft of his note. After a couple of minutes he suddenly turned his head to look at her.

"What?" Lois asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You haven't called me _weird_ once, today."

Lois snorted. "Oh don't worry, it's still there. Plenty of it."

"Or maybe I'm getting better," Clark drawled. "A little."

"Oh please." Lois snickered. "You really believe that?" In a way it was interesting to see how quickly he was losing his shyness, at least where she was concerned. Maybe adapting was one of his special gifts.

Clark grinned in reply and returned to his typing, and Lois suppressed a sigh. She was feeling confused and didn't know why, and the day was long from over.

oOo

Oliver sat in his office at Queen Industries and waited for his call to be picked up. "Come on Bart, this is more important than pizza service!" he muttered into the phone. No chance; when he'd waited for a couple of minutes he hung up and instead activated the video link on his desk computer. It wasn't Bart who answered.

"Hi boss!" AC said, grinning as he always did. "What's up?"

"Where's Bart?" Oliver demanded. "Tell him I need to talk with him."

"I'll get him," AC promised. He disappeared for a moment and when he came back, he was literally dragging a person in a red hoodie by the scruff of the neck.

Bart was blinking at the camera in confusion, "Oh, hi –"

"Did you give one of my best shirts to Lois Lane?" Oliver cut him short. "And didn't you feel the need to mention that she visited?"

"Oh, right!" Bart grinned. "Lois Lane was here, yeah. Mm. It was actually the first time I saw her in her office clothes and damn, she looked ho–"

"Hold on." Oliver rolled his eyes. Some people just never grew up. "There's another reason I'm calling. Can you get Victor, too?"

"Sure, man." Bart flashed off; a moment later he returned with Victor in tow.

"How's the research for Star City coming along?" Oliver asked him.

Victor shrugged, "We need more time. Actually I'm pretty busy at the moment, so what is this about?"

"Yeah." Oliver leaned back in his chair. "You remember the young man I met two days ago on that Luthorcorp facility? That I told you about?"

AC nodded, "What about him?"

Oliver smiled. "Turns out he's one of us."

His three friends exchanged glances. "I thought he was a guard or something?" Victor inquired.

"That's what he said," Oliver replied, "but I observed him beating up a couple of Luthor's goons like you've never seen before. It was really impressive. And when _I _say impressive …"

"Then it _was_ impressive," AC supplied. "So …"

Oliver nodded solemnly. "He's going to need the test."

"But –" Victor began but was drowned out by Bart, "Now? We've only just gotten Dinah."

"There are five of us. Don't you think that's enough for the moment?" Victor asked when Bart had finished. "It can get risky if –"

"Guys," Oliver interrupted in a placating voice. "You know how much there is to do in the streets of Metropolis, not to mention Luthor's facilities. We need all the help we can get." He looked at each of them in turn. "This guy is really good, believe me, and I'm pretty sure he can get even better. He doesn't seem to know anything about _us_, though, so there's our chance."

Victor looked at AC, then back to the camera, "It's already been decided, right?"

Oliver sighed, "Come on Victor, I need you for this."

"Don't worry, I'm not leaving you hanging," Victor said. "If you're so convinced of this guy I guess I have to meet him for myself."

"Awesome!" Bart suddenly grinned. "That means we have to think of something new, right? Ha, this is gonna be fun!"

* * *

clarkfan325: Thanks ;)

h-g-j-l-e-r-k: Thank you. The romance is coming slowly, I know, but I'm glad that you're still reading :)

imhooked: Hey! Yeah you'll have to do that – take what you can get – because my story is loooong :)

IrishUnicorn: Good to hear from you again, and thanks for the very detailed review! You know, that line you mentioned just came to me as I was writing, sometimes that happens and sometimes you just sit there and don't know what to write at all, and it's very frustrating ;) So it's a great reward to see that people notice the details :)

LoisNClark4Ever: Wow, thanks for having so much confidence in me, and thanks for pointing out what you liked about the chapter! Your reviews are always fun to read :)

Mpj891: Thanks, I will.

reeven: I hope this was soon enough. Thanks for reading!

s01itaire90: Hi to you again, and thanks for the review and your thoughts, which really help. It's important to know if the readers understand the story the way I'm trying to write it, and apparently they do, yay :)


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